


The Lines We Cross

by empires



Series: Things We Carry [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Exorcisms, Gotham City - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic School, Magic-Users, Red Hood no Exorcist, Shounen Fights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6507808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after being rescued by the Dark Knight, Jason Todd is trying to get used to his new life and new school. The halls are filled with stuck up kids, strange professors, ancient ritual, killer exams, and Jason gets the feeling that he’s being watched. No place is safe in Gotham, where even the innocent and unseen fall beneath the power hidden within the city. Will he learn how to protect himself and his growing family?</p><p>A hero’s story has to start somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expect Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story is affectionately known as "Red Hood no Exorcist" (by no one other than me), the story does not follow Ao no Exorcist at all. There are demon kings though.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight months after his rescue, Jason Todd is trying to get used to his new life and new school. The halls are filled with stuck up kids, strange professors, ancient ritual, killer exams, and Jason gets the feeling that he’s being watched. No place is safe in Gotham, where even the innocent and unseen fall beneath the power hidden within the city. Will he learn how to protect himself and his growing family?
> 
> A hero’s story has to start somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is affectionately known as "Red Hood no Exorcist" (by no one other than me), the story does not follow Ao no Exorcist's plot. There are demon kings though. And shounen fights. 
> 
> Get ready to feel the (slow) burn with this one! I'm challenging myself to build real relationships between everyone but especially Dick and Jason.

i.

Jason sped through the hallowed academy hallways in a desperate against the tardy bell rang. He didn't regret receiving help for his math homework, but he sure wished he'd paid better attention to the unfamiliar weight of the heavy watch on his wrist. Now he was running, late and out of time. 

In this pea farm of a school, where every student seemed grown from the same seed and sprang from the same pod destined for the same prescribed future, punctuality symbolized good manners, breeding, and respect. For Jason Todd, punctuality was the only thing standing between him and perfect marks on his report card. That alone motivated him to master the rhythm and pace of the halls to get from one end of the expansive school campus to the other. It had become a game of precision, a way to test himself against the system, and now, he could navigate with the best of them.

Jason’s eyes constantly darted about the throng, searching for openings while he shot down the hall. He dodged between the stragglers, wove through the groups of laughing friends, and spun round a couple intent on a sudden public display of affection. He ducked under two students balancing a project between them, tossing an, “excuse me,” over his shoulder. Attention just behind him, Jason missed the whispered plot as he rounded the corner. A boot clipped his ankle sending him to the marble floor with a hard slap.

Books and papers scattered from his backpack. Jason rolled to his back with a groan and watched as his tablet skittered to a stop against the far wall.

“Watch were you’re going!” A shrill voice cried. Laughter followed the snide remark.

“Shit,” Jason muttered, pushing upright to find today’s assholes already hurrying down the hall. Cool hands settled onto his shoulders tugging to help as Jason untwisted his shirt. “I’m okay,” he hissed, shaking free. “I said I’m okay. Get out of here. Go!”

A group of students frown at him as they pass. "God, he's so weird."

Jason ignored the comments, dull heat rising to his cheeks. Everyone had something to say, but none of the balls to confront him face-to-face. He forced the angry throb out of his chest. It's not like he had time to make a scene. He knelt in the emptying hallway shoving loose leaf paper into a text book.

The school bells began chiming. The slow, sonorous clang announced that five minutes remained before the next class began. The hallways cleared rapidly after the warning bell sounded and wasn’t that something? The Academy used church bells to count the hours. They were one in a long list of things Jason thought he’d never get used to right up there with sleeping through the night, wearing a tie to class, and cafeteria food that tasted good.

“They’re not worth it.”

Jason stowed his tablet back in its case making sure to zip it this time before he stood. “What are you talking about?”

Hands on hips, blond ponytail bouncing, Stephanie Brown pointed at the crowd of upper classmen rushing away from them. “They’re not worth fighting or whatever you’re planning, so don’t."

“You think I don’t know that?” Glaring down at Stephanie never help but Jason tried anyway. Despite being two years older and meaner, they were roughly the same height. They were also classmates and somehow that meant they were friends, at least in Stephanie’s eyes. Nothing he said seemed to say mattered.

“Knowing something doesn’t always stop people from acting on hurt pride.” Stephanie recited the words like she’d heard them over and over again. “You got that same look on your face when you popped Lucas Holloway in the face.”

“You mean when I knocked Lucas Holloway’s lights out?” Jason tried to smother the pride in his voice. Really.

Stephanie rolled her eyes before handing Jason a slim book he missed. “Whatever. They’re pushing you because everyone knows you’re here on scholarship. If you keep getting in trouble, the Academy could take it away.”

“I’m not here on scholarship. I'm here on _merit_ ,” Jason growled. Bruce had said as much, looking surprised and stern when Jason argued that he didn’t need donations. “Hey, Brown, I gotta get to class,” he said, cutting Stephanie’s retort short. “The bell, remember?”

He sidestepped her and continued to the classroom at the end of the hall. He didn’t need some sheltered twelve year old girl lecturing him on why these pricks tried to bully him.

Growing up on Gotham streets taught Jason more than anyone needed to know about human nature. Those lesson played out the same way in this preparatory school inhabited by rich freaks and spoiled sophisticates. Jason hung on the bottom rung of the social hierarchy by his fingernails. Circumstance made him a target. He was scrawny, shorter than half his age group, and shoved in the equivalent of sixth grade classes to make up for the fact that his father was a fuck up and his mother had drowned in misery until she disappeared. Added to this list was the fact that Bruce Wayne personally fostered Jason and ensured his enrollment to the school. The story had made the rounds before Jason even set foot on the school grounds earning him the moniker "charity case." Everything about his story made Jason an oddity, a thing that didn’t fit into the neatly laundered lines of the other kids. They wanted to put him in his place like most rich people did with their handouts, wanted to remind you of where you actually belong: on the other side of their money, beholden to them. And they would do whatever it took to break him.

Jason wasn’t weak and he never wanted handouts. He wasn’t here because of some whim of a billionaire playboy. He carried something inside of him that no one else had. Bruce called it potential and it measured off weird charts Jason had never heard. That potential earned Jason the right to attend the Maxwell-Huerr Academy of the Occult Arts. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, but Jason would definitely show everyone why he deserved to be here.

* * *

A hush fell over the class when Jason swept into the classroom. It was a stark reminder that his hallway problems were completely reversed each time he stepped into an occult art class. Jason pushed through a wad of kids nearly two years his junior crowding the teacher’s platform to let him pass. He wanted to laugh when they scrambled away, but he couldn’t.

On his second day of enrollment, Jason fought Lucas Holloway outside this classroom establishing a reputation with one swift punch. The blood running down his knuckles told everyone that Jason Todd was dangerous. The curt and quiet façade he built between himself and his classmates said he was a rude loner. Besides Stephanie, none of the younger kids seemed to know what to do with him. Most days Jason didn’t know what to make of himself either.

The classroom reminded Jason of the science labs at his old school. It was long, narrow space. The professor’s podium and demonstration desk, both elevated and neatly organized, stood at the front of the room. A floor to ceiling blackboard hung from the wall just to the right of the door. To the left ran a row of cabinets and counters that covered the rest of the hallway wall. Glassware filled the open shelves, although Jason never saw the purpose in them. His class certainly never used them. Windows stretched across the outside wall letting in the last wan rays of winter sun. Eight long lab tables with heavy slate tops acted as the student’s desks. Four were evenly spaced on each side of a center aisle with two students assigned to each table. The tables were empty today, just as they were yesterday and the week before. The only equipment the class ever seemed to need was a first edition primer on drawing circles 101 and piece of chalk. More than pre-algebra, more than Latin, more than composition, more than almost anything at this school, Jason hated his summoning class.

After setting his bag beneath the lab table that doubled as his desk, Jason slumped atop the waiting stool. When given a choice, Jason always liked sitting in the middle of the class. Tucking behind a tall kid or a round one was the best way to go unnoticed. But he had arrived at the academy five weeks into the winter session and was stuck at the front of the classroom.

Seconds later, Stephanie came through the door like a whirlwind dragging the other oddity that roamed the halls behind her. At age ten, Timothy Drake’s aptitude tests made the staff scramble all over themselves to push him through the courses. On top of that, Tim could already speak two languages and decline nouns like only dead emperors should. Somehow, he was given a pass even though he was scrawnier than Jason, quieter than Jason, and sometimes even moodier. And it appeared that none of the other students were of Tim even though he stared at everyone with eyes shaded a pale, watery blue. Tim was also Jason’s summons partner. It was a real pain.

Stephanie tossed her hair in Jason’s direction then spun away, nose in the air.

Tim set a metal container on the table. It was small, dented, and still had flecks of an old cough drop logo on the top. “Steph told me to tell you that you left this,” he whispered. 

Jason flicked the edge and the top popped open revealing his chalk. He closed it and pushed it next to his books. “Yeah? Tell her that I didn’t say thanks.”

Tim stared at him with those creepy eyes like he was debating whether he should do just that. He glanced at Stephanie then back at Jason.

Jason sighed. “I’m kidding, Drake.”

“I know,” said Tim, solemnly. He pulled a primer and chalk protector from his bag before hanging it under the desk. Then Tim climbed into his seat, landing with a huff. His thin legs dangled above the footrests. Tim arranged his space with precise movements, opening the primer to the day’s lesson, which was already bookmarked, and set it in the book rest. He placed a notebook at his left elbow, chalk at the top of the desk, and a pen behind his ear. Settled, Tim opened his mouth as if to say something, but after a moment, let it fall close again, choosing to kick his foot against the steel rungs of his stool instead.

To be honest, Jason had no clue what to talk to the kid about if he wanted to engage him. Ordinarily, the two would never have met since Jason was closing in on the ninth grade in his academic classes and Tim should be finishing fourth grade, but Jason's freak life had placed them in the situation of being classroom partners. What made the situation worse was that Tim seemed to deserve being here, while Jason struggled some days to justify it even to himself. Probably, he should find Tim’s intelligence an aptitude intimidating, but Jason had met smarter, Jason had met the _best_. Still, he had to admit there was something impressive about the little squirt. Didn’t mean he wanted to be friends.

They were both saved from conversation by the door closing with a smart bang. The class turned to see their instructor striding to the front of the room. 

“What did the egg say to the frying pan?” Tall with a perpetual cloud of white handprints along his elbows and streaks in his hair, Mr. Nelson opened each afternoon with a joke from the wrapper of Laffy Taffy he pulled from a pocket. “You crack me up!”

The other kids giggled and hooted while the church bells tolled outside the window.

Jason rolled his eyes. He really hated this class.

After attendance, the droning sound of announcements, and the flutter of homework passing forward, Mr. Nelson began the summoning lesson with review of the previous lesson.

“Last time we worked on building a fourth ring in our summons. Does anyone remember what it’s called?” Mr. Nelson asked as if it had been a week since their last class. Tim’s hand shot up, and Jason fought to keep the grimace off his face. “Tim.”

“The ordinate plane,” said Tim. “It is the fourth component for summoning, following the circle of protection, the circle of will, and the gate. It’s used to position our summons.”

“That’s right, Tim. And hmm.” Mr. Nelson pretended to search the classroom for another student to call, but Jason knew. Whenever Tim answered something, he was always, _always_ next. “Jason. Can you tell me what order we bound our summons to?”

Jason leaned back on his stool and considered rolling the legs from three to two to see if he could still keep his balance. Once Jason determined that he could balance easily while making it clear he was on his own time, not the classes, he drawled, “yeah.”

Mr. Nelson didn’t look anything but patient. “Go ahead then,” said Mr. Nelson, an expectant teacher look spackled onto his face, like he’s humoring Jason until someone else needed to be called.

Jason didn’t want to. The words were on the tip of his tongue along with the request to harass someone else. But he had promised to try. He dropped forward with a clatter.

“We built the ordinate planes around the first order of the physical world, which are the elements,” said Jason. “You said the first order is best for beginners because there’s a lot of elements just flying around in the air. We also got to practice sustaining elements inside of the summons circle last time, but it was a lot freaking harder than you made it sound—”

“That’s very good, Jason,” Mr. Nelson said, cutting him off with a smile. A few muffled giggles tickled through the class. “An excellent summation of Friday's lesson: elements are plentiful in the first order, but it takes concentration and will to collect and sustain them inside a magic circle. Today, we’re going to take the next step and pull an element inside of the summoning circle.”

With a wave of his hand, Mr. Nelson splashed a dollop of gold-tinged magical energy atop his demonstration desk. It spun brilliantly then exploded in a puff of sparkling dust. As the dust landed, faint traces of gold lines flashed into existence. Wards activated, Mr. Nelson began discussing the daily lesson concepts. He was a very engaging teacher and managed to build on the concepts from the previous class, but Jason tuned him out after hearing the practical exercise. He curled forward to protect against the cold feeling settling in his gut.

In theory, the exercise should be simple. Each student would stand at the of the class and pull an element into the summoning circle carefully built on the demonstration desk. Last Friday, Jason couldn’t even keep an ounce of water floating in his circle. How was he supposed to make some appear out of thin air?

“When you position yourself at the podium, make sure you keep your feet inside of the grounding circle,” said Mr. Nelson. “Rule number one is to be as safe as you can. Rule number two is don’t—”

“Don’t cross the lines!” the class chorused, minus Jason of course.

For the next hour, each student climbed onto the platform, screwed their eyes shut and concentrated pulling elements from the void. Most everyone took a couple minutes, with Tim Drake being the exception. Barely a minute after he took the platform, a bright circle of fire peeled into existence like a flaming banana. Stephanie struggled for ten minutes before coaxing a puff of air that fluttered her long bangs. Other students summoned less than that like a smudge of chalky dirt. One after another they stood in front of class conjuring a wisp of smoke, three small drops of water, a flicker of light bright as the sun from the hazy nothingness inside the circle.

Mr. Nelson checked the circles and then called Jason to the front of the room. It was his turn now. Jason hopped from his stool and walked up the aisle, dread building in his belly.

The whole exercise was easy, he reminded himself. He just had to take a deep breath, relax, concentrate on a place inside his mind that was calm and dark, find an element just beyond the boundary that separated his mind from the nearest plane of existence and coax it in his world. Easy. When he’s calm, when he’s focused, there was nothing he couldn’t do. Jason wiped sweaty palms against his jeans and tried to focus his attention inward. After several long breathes, he hears a loud titter, and a fierce shush.

Jason’s eyes fluttered open. Half the class faced backwards, nervous laughter caught somewhere in their nose and their chests. They’re looking at the clock. Jason looked at time, a slow flush creeping up his cheeks. Nearly ten minutes had passed. 

“Class, respect Jason by giving him your full attention, like I’m sure he did you,” said Mr. Nelson.

The whole class was watching him now. He felt every eye on him, waiting for failure. Most of them at least. Stephanie wrinkled her nose at him and sent a thumbs up. Tim nodded like he wasn’t sure what to do but nodding was a human function and so he would do it. Jesus, he had babies trying to cheer him up. The thought tugged at his chest a little, twisting up in that weird place he didn’t like to peer into. A lot of things hung around there like his rescue by the Dark Knight and his promise to Bruce to just try.

Didn’t look like he was even trying now, did it? He'd give anything to not have to suffer through another afternoon of kids whispering about him, trying to figure out why he was even here.

Mr. Nelson gave him an encouraging smile. “You’re doing fine, Jason. Give it another go.”

“Yeah. Okay,” said Jason. He could do this. He would do this. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

Instead of focusing on calm like the meditation lessons demanded, Jason grasped at his frustration and embarrassment, the desperate feelings thrumming through him like a vibrating string. They acted as a slippery rope to his subconscious, and Jason slid from his mind’s eye into the void, a magical nexus between the plains of existence and gently landed on both feet.

All the books and all the teachers described the void as an endless expanse that both separated and connected the supernatural worlds from reality. Because the human brain looked for order, humans often interpreted the void into familiar sights or memories. To Jason, the void just looked like a flat, black parking lot covered in goopy tar. For a brief moment, the parking lot looked endless and abandoned but that was just an illusion.

In the distance, he could see an edge to the nothingness, a thin shimmer against the dark that had to be the boundary between their reality and the next. Beyond that boundary rested the elements. He started walking toward the glowing edge of the parking lot. He had expected the place to be silent, but underneath the echo of his heartbeat, Jason could hear the shuffle and scrape of his sneakers on the asphalt. Every step he took seemed to carry Jason further away from the boundary. It'd take forever for him to reach the boundary at this rate. Jason focused his eyes on the horizon until the landscape blurred and he was there. He reached out to touch the shining expanse with his hands.

The boundary felt soft underneath his palm, cool and supple. It appeared as real as the ground he walked on, although Jason understood neither had actual form. A flicker of movement caught his attention coming just beyond the border. It felt bright and essential, maybe fire. Fire was a common element but difficult to control. Wouldn’t it show them if he could bring fire back from the void? He concentrated imagining himself a calm conduit through which the element could flow into this world and simply pulled. And pulled. And pulled again.

Nothing happened. Again and again he tried, but none of his attempts worked. As hard as he might, he could not bring it through the boundary.

Jason leaned back with a huff, filled with a churning, heated anger. _Come on, Come on!_

Balling his fists together, Jason struck the boundary. The nothing shuddered and flexed like a steel saw. He hit the wall again and watched it tilt and roil up and down, up and down. In between the flex and roll, Jason could just see the glittering balls of light that Mr. Nelson pulled into their summoning circles. They were the elements. He laughed, suddenly excited, hope laying across his anger like a soothing balm. He was almost there.

This time Jason gave the boundary a respectful knock.

_Come on over! I need your help!_

Lines shattered across the boundary in long and thick marks smudging away the shimmering line. The other side came into focus and Jason could see all the elements spilling across the empty expanse like stars. The space around him roiled again then split with a great whoosh of air sending the elements rushing back into nothing. Jason lost his footing and fell on his knees, but he could only sit there and stare as a colorless wave blanketed the space.

Just outside the boundary line welled a new darkness, deeper, colder than what was there before. It swirled into the air like a waterspout, churning and twisting, then fanned in slow peels of dark light, revealing a single blue eye.


	2. Safe at the Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summoning class concludes and Jason gets support from some unusual sources. 
> 
> A hero's story has to start somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos!

**i.**

The eye floated in the middle of a seething cloud of dark energy. It was wide as Jason was tall and reflected his open-mouthed surprise in the black fire of its pupil.

Jason rose to his feet, stubborn determination setting his features. He raised his hand in a gesture of “I come in peace," hoping the apparition couldn't see how his fear. The eye thrummed with power so strong it shook Jason's knees and churned his stomach. He offered the eye a grin.

_You’re not what I was expecting but you’re kind of awesome._ he said, voice echoing in the darkness of his mind. _You wanna come back with me?_

The eye bobbed gently before Jason caught in an unblinking stare, which was fair. Eyes couldn’t do much more than that. 

Each slow-passing second raised the hair along his arms and the back of his neck. He licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the moment when something would finally happen. He summoned a fresh burst of bravado and speaks into the void once more.

_I don't mind waiting around for you to stop being so shy, but you're gonna have to give me something. The entire class is out there waiting, and I'm dying out there._

Nervous tension trickled down Jason's throat. Doubt prickled along his skin, but he swore he'd never give into those feelings. He just had to wait it out, a few more seconds and he was sure something would wonderful would happen.

_Please, I need your help._

The tension snapped without warning.

A flare of hot wind swirled about him, whipping his hair around, tugging his tie out like a banner whipping in the middle of a storm. Suddenly, Jason’s feet began slide forward with one foot jerking in front of the other as he was dragged closer to the boundary against his will. He yanked shoulders back trying to brace against the tugging sensation, but his feet continued to stumble over the last few feet of asphalt. 

_Stop_ , he shouted, fighting against the pull. His hands passed through the boundary, a stinging pain laced through the bones of his fingers to his wrists and up his arms, to his elbows, and then Jason was jerked over the shining line.

The sensations careening through his body were like nothing he'd ever felt before. Passing through the boundary felt like a dozen ants marched over his skin, like a prick of the needle in the soft flesh of his belly, like a red-hot brand twisting into his skill. Yet, Jason had no time to consider his phantom pains, because he was falling, falling into the darkness, crying out as the swirling edge enveloped him. He fell for what seemed like hours, and then it stopped just as suddenly as it began. The elemental lights faded away leaving only Jason and the banked fire of the blue eye. 

The eye regarded him with a swell of attention, stealing the breath from his lungs. It was pointed pressure on Jason alone, intense and hungry, as if the eye had only just caught sight of him. Perhaps it hadn't before, perhaps the boundary did protect Jason from the terrible power bearing upon him, so much heavier than Jason could bear. His heart began to pound and the sound echoed around him, louder, faster, a harsh _thuddum, thuddum_ , heavy and wet with blood. He shuddered, fog tumbling from his lips in great white puffs. Soon, his breathing slowed, his heart grew faint. A sadness welled within him, deep and fearful, because this was a sensation Jason knew all too well, numbness crawling through his fingers, legs, arms. He didn't want this. Never again did he want to feel this way

 _Help me_. 

The eye began to move. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say the eye began to shake, rolling around sightlessly, faster and faster until it vibrated just outside of Jason's reach. The viscous, blue fluid sparkled, ripped, and the eye tore itself in two. The eyes rolled to the left and then to the right as if to study him with bright interest. A hungry mouth filled with sharp, pointed teeth longer than Jason's entire body slashed out of the void, and still Jason could feel himself being drawn closer. 

The hungry mouth flicked out a black tongue and hissed, _oh yes. oh yes, this one can. this one is._ It hummed and the vibrations washed over Jason knocking away the cold. _yes, this one is--_ and Jason's own eyes grew round as the gaping maw grew larger, the teeth longer, and a deeply copper scent spun around him—- _so rare_ \--mouth opening wider still, black tongue flickering out to touch Jason--

“Jason!”

Jasons' eyes snapped open. Light, bright and consuming, blinded him. He drew in deep, shaking breaths while he blinked trying to figure out where he was, how he got there. Slowly, the classroom appeared. The windows letting in the sunlight, the black desk tops, the children on their feet, surprise and horror on their young faces. He glanced around the room trying to focus on something other than his pounding heart. The clock said twenty-three minutes had passed. The circle around his feet looked different, like chipped paint instead of Mr. Nelson’s smooth strokes.

Mr. Nelson gripped his shoulder, face frowning in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice tight.

"Yeah. Yessir," Jason said, still forcing calm into his heart and air into his lungs. He coughed, the tang of rain on asphalt thick in his throat.

“Are you okay, Jason?” Stephanie’s voice cut through the silence.

Jason shrugged the hand from his shoulder. “You got a loud mouth, Brown."

Stephanie’s cheeks filled with color and her wide eyed look of fright blinked back to normal. “Whatever!”

The rest of the class buzzed with excitement. His teacher stared at the desk in front of him. Jason followed his gaze, hoping for some sort of clue, but there was nothing there, nothing at all that proved Jason found the elements let alone seen a…a something in the void.

“You may return to your desk, Jason.” Mr. Nelson steadied Jason when he stepped down before turning to face the other students.

“Well that was certainly exciting. Class, consider this a demonstration of power over finesse.” said Mr. Nelson. “Jason.”

Jason turned to face his teacher.

“You may not have been able to pull an element all the way through, but you certainly understand the technique. If you wouldn’t mind coming to class a little early tomorrow, we can talk about what went wrong. Tim, Jason, if you would please clear the board for the next class. I’ll take care of the summoning circles on your desk. Class, once you receive your graded papers, you can leave.”

Jason frowned but headed to the blackboard hanging next to the classroom door. His legs felt strong but his chest and ribs ached like he had been squeezed, so he moved slowly and tried to ignore twinge when he lifted his arms. He began erasing the simple circles and instructions.

“What did you do?”

Jason looked down at his elbow to find Tim staring at him. His usually serious expression turned up in faint curiosity. “Huh?”

Tim set both of their backpacks on the ground between them. “I want to know what you did in the void.”

“You saw as well as everyone else. I didn’t do anything,” Jason said, bitterly.

“You did do something,” Tim insisted. He picked up the other eraser. “You were standing there the first time, but after you tried again, Mr. Nelson’s grounding circle lit up. It was almost too bright to see anything. Your circle on our desk scattered into dust.”

Jason glanced over at their desk. It was a mess of powder spraying in all directions. He’d never heard of summoning circles exploding like that before, hadn’t read about it in their primers either. “Chalk is dust," he said, shrugging. "But if you're so worried about it, use your freaky brain and tell me what you think happened.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.” Tim frowned at the board genuinely upset that he couldn’t figure it out.

They're interrupted by Mr. Nelson rushing towards them with papers in hand. “Jason, Tim. Good work. You may also leave now.”

Jason collected his belongings, somewhat cheered by the perfect marks sitting on the top of his homework stack. He gave Mr. Nelson a jaunty wave and sauntered out the door with Tim at his elbow. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall that he noticed a peculiar sight. Three unfamiliar adults rushed down the hall. The buttons on their bright academy blazers winked with each purposeful step. As one, he and Tim turned to follow their trajectory. It was only mildly surprising to see them stop at Mr. Nelson's door.

Mr. Nelson offered them a polite smile. “Tomorrow before class, Jason. Don’t be late.” Mr. Nelson called. “Excuse us.”

The door shut behind him with a solid click. Frowning, Jason realized that perhaps he had done something after all. 

  


* * *

  


It was easy to ignore the whispers that followed as he passed through the third floor common area. He’d grown used to the speculation of why Bruce Wayne didn’t let his charity case come home during the week. It wasn’t anyone’s business why Jason chose to stay at the academy when he could have easily been driven back and forth each day. All that mattered was that it was Jason’s choice. And it was the right one. He had so much to learn and so little time to do it.

Jason slapped his keycard against the sensor and pushed into his bedroom. It was small, clean, with a desk and screen by the wall. A comfortable full bed lay tucked against the far wall beneath two bay windows overlooking the south lawn. Outside of his clothing and game console, Jason had no real person effects in the room until last week when a box of books arrived from the manor. He’d arranged the gifts on the shelf above his bed. They were old, leather bound books that Jason grew to know under Alfred’s brief tutelage and were strangely comforting. A green tin filled with homemade cookies sat beside them. He wanted to eat one right now, but he was too tired to chew. 

Shedding his blazer and tie lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. He dropped them from on the back of his chair before continuing to undress. He kicked off his shoes, whipped his belt free, and unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers. Leaving the rest of his uniform neatly folded over the seat, Jason fell into the plush blankets and pillows waiting atop his bed and sighed.

It had been a long fucking day.

Mondays were the worst day in the week for Jason. He attended two of occult classes in the mornings: charms and summoning. Both classes were on the opposite end of the building and that meant a long sprint to get to the next class in a timely manner. Having two occult classes so close to one another also meant that Jason practiced a lot of magic in a short period of time, which led to what the professors called, “extreme mental fatigue.” Doing magic, they said, fatigued the brain, especially in new practitioners. Jason would like to correct them. Doing magic made your brain want to leak out of your ears, crawl into the toilet, and disappear never to be heard from again. Despite having lunch and study hall afterwards, Jason didn't have enough time to really reset and recharge. In the afternoon, Jason attended his algebra, Latin, and Language Arts classes, and he spent much of those break periods preparing for them. Fortunately, Jason was on level in the academic courses and was able to learn with his peers. Not that it made it any better. They had closed ranks the moment he walked into the classroom, the fucking punks. The only break he'd caught all day was during his study period when he'd found someone who offered to walk Jason through his algebra homework. It was telling that math had been the high point of his day.

Now Jason was back in his room, brain drained and ready for bed, but he couldn’t sleep, not yet. He still didn’t know how to explain what happened in the summoning class. He needed answers, fatigue or now, and there's one source Jason hasn't tried next.

Despite what the many experts and authors of strange, dry texts would have their readers believe, the strange and the bizarre inhabited much of the world both seen and unseen. Gotham was full of these strange spaces negotiated by magic users, magical beings, and magic itself. Jason happened to discover one such place on his own.

If he focused on the soft light projected by the desk lamp, he could see a glittering ring spanning from red to a deep sea blue just below the glowing source. And if he focused further, concentrating his attention on a specific color, the sickly yellow-green, Jason could find the motes. There was no other word to describe the floating, furry tailed specks of lights that bobbled just outside his vision. They were all about the academy, moving in winding patterns and seemed to gather when Jason neared. He had started to suspect the moats were trying to communicate with him. The hell of it was, he could almost understand the flickering, swirling movements. They followed Jason around campus and would often approach him when he was alone sometimes even darting up to touch him. He'd started to talking to them, a quiet to ease his own fears, but the thing of it was they seemed to respond to his voice. He'd even go as far to say that they liked him.

The motes would have an answer, he's sure of it.

“Hey, uh, little dudes,” he said, after finding them dancing lazily in the light spectrum. “You feel like talking today? ‘Cause I need some help.”

The motes drifted down from the lights in a gentle, cresting wave. Slowly their numbers grew until there were nearly a hundred clustered above him, waiting. He scratched the end of his nose while he thought of the best way to approach this, feeling a little flustered under such intense regard

“Did you guys come to the classroom today?” He was used to seeing the motes around the school but they rarely seemed to follow him into the occult arts building.

The motes shuffled over each other, vibrating with excitement.

“You did, huh? I didn’t even see you. Did you see me?” Jason watched as the shaking intensified. “Something really freaking weird happened, right? Do you know who did it? Was it the professor?”

Their shuddering stopped, then after the brief pause, the motes began wafting lazily.

“No? Then those dudes that came to the room? Did any of them have the mark? A mark like this?” Jason tugged the neck of his shirt revealing red crescent shape below his collar. The motes crowded closer then scattered once the mark was fully exposed as if they were frightened.

He covered his chest again. “No, huh. Hey no, it’s okay. It scares me too.”

After a brief moment, the tiny wisps of light congregated above him again, swirling clockwise in a lazy circle.

Jason bit his corner of his thumb, thinking. The straightforward approach would probably be best. “Do you guys know what happened to me?”

The motes stilled.

“You do.” Jason scrambled to his knees. “Can you tell me? Hey. Hey!” He shuffled backwards across the bed when, as one, the wisps started humming. His eyes widened. They'd never before made a sound. 

The motes began to move again, this time expanding out in a smooth wave that converged into a single line. Each shimmering, shining puffs of ephemeral lint crowded close until he could almost feel fluttering at the tip of his nose, then disappeared leaving another in its place. The bizarre procession lasted until the final mote faded back into the light.

“Don’t do that guys, come on!” He coaxed, but it was too late. They had disappeared. 

Jason flopped back into the pillows frowning. If that was an answer, it was one he didn't understand. Looks like he’d have investigate further tomorrow.

 

* * *

  


**ii.**

It did not take long for Jason to confirm that before everything, professor, demonologist, failed comic, and homework fiend, Kent Nelson was an _adult_.

Adults had a certain way of speaking to kids after serious incidents or traumas, the kind ones at least. They eased into topics with soft voices, always asking if understanding was taking place— _you’re safe now, do you understand? Do you know how lucky you are, son? Do you understand what happened to you, Jason?_ They liked to play association games and gauge the level of approaching freak out before getting into the real questions. The problem with this approach was that those adults never wanted to give straight answers in return.

The last time he’d been interviewed, Jason had sat in a side office of the Gotham Police Department’s patrol room with a blanket folded over his bare shoulders and sipping from a mug of milk-drenched coffee for hours waiting for some kind of sensible response. That night, he learned all a guy could do in these kid-adult situations was wait for the right moment and grab whatever bits of honest information slipped through. At least with assholes you knew you wouldn’t get nothing except for the back of the hand. Violence you could prepare for. Good intentions? Didn’t help with shit, and after ten minutes sitting in Mr. Nelson's office, Jason knew he was knee deep without a shovel. At least Mr. Nelson knew how to serve decent tea—something Jason had just started to appreciate.

“And then you hit the boundary and saw the elements, correct?”

“Yes sir. I could see them just on the other side but nothing I did would pull them over. It felt like this huge wall was separating me from them.”

“The boundaries are, well, they’re like this door right here.” Mr. Nelson pointed to the glass door of his office. “They are an entrance of sorts, sturdy and strong, but parts are sturdier than others.”

Their classroom lay beyond the cloudy pane. Long tables cleared and the floors gleaming white. The chalkboards hidden by pull down maps of concentric and intersecting circles representing worlds Jason had never really knew existed. It looked pristine, like nothing happened yesterday, like Jason hadn’t looked into the void and found it looking back. That’s when Jason knew he had to push. He needed some kind of answer.

He brought his teacup up then paused, eyes purposefully wide. “I thought the boundary was just metaphysical.”

“And metaphorical,” said Mr. Nelson, leaning back in his chair. He looked at Jason over the gold rim of his glasses, a clear sign Nelson was settling into lecture mode. “The appearance of the boundaries of our mind are merely representation. They are how we humans rationalize the improbable. It is also not uncommon for the shape of your mind to interpret the power differently as we gain experience or age.”

“But you said what happened was a demonstration of power. Is that what happened? Did I, I don’t know. Did I gain access to more of my brain or something? Please,” he screwed his brows up in earnest confusion when Mr. Nelson hesitated, leveraging all of the charm that used to grease him through the palms of Gotham’s seriously wacked underground. “I just want to know so I can be careful next time.”

“Let me first remind you that the Academy is here to provide you with a safe environment to learn and practice your gift without fear or judgment, Jason, so please, let your fears fall silent. Not that you are scared,” he interrupted Jason’s protests. “As to what happened, well, it’s hard to be sure. That’s what this conversation is about. But, I believe you may have peeled away part of the circle’s protections with your.” Mr. Nelson flicked his fingers as if flipping through an unseen book. “Magical aptitude. It’s not that you started to use one-hundred percent of your brain or anything so ridiculous. The circles aren’t just to confuse and dilute the power we bring in from the other side. It’s also a channel to create safe entry from one plane to the next.”

It took all of Jason’s will not to stand up and cheer. Mr. Nelson seemed ready to give him answers. He leaned forward, keeping his the intent frown of listening on his face. He had to play this carefully.

“I read that chapter,” Jason said, because he had spent last night reviewing readings he’d skimmed for a clue to what happened in class. “But I’m sure I was uh. You know, drawing the elements through as soon as I saw them.”

“When you imagined yourself knocking on the boundary, you were doing two things. Firstly, you were trying to push into the next realm and grab the elements. Secondly, you were also focusing that power on the protections themselves which somewhat weakened them. In short, you used that potential of yours against the circle’s protections and stretched them thin. Jason, you could have easily brought something unexpected over.” His gaze was pointed.

“I wasn’t trying to do that!” Jason tried not to think of the great blue eye and the fierce winds scraping at his skin, tried not to hold his breath while Mr. Nelson studied him for several long moments. It took serious concentration, but Jason managed.

Finally, Mr. Nelson shook his head, sighing, “Of course not, Jason. One of the many things you will learn is that pushing boundaries is very dangerous.”

“What does that mean?” Jason asked, leaning forward on the offensive now that his questions were being answered.

“It means that the Academy, and myself, have been remiss with your safety simply because your family was not known to have magical affinity. We have to handle your situation with more care.”

Now that sounded pretty insulting. Jason felt a familiar blankness well within him cut by a sharp heat in his chest.

“You mean you guys thought street trash like me don’t have the breeding for real magic. Good to know,” he sneered, leaning back in his seat and kicking one of his shiny leather shoes over his knee. If he had a cigarette, he’d light it now and show Nelson and everyone else what kind of breeding he really had. Okay, he wouldn’t but he wants to flick something.

“We faculty don’t have access to all of the student’s records, but I do understand that there were circumstances surrounding your ah. Fostering and subsequent enrollment at the academy are peculiar. It does not mean that I or any other faculty were concerned because of your breeding. There’s just a natural pattern of progression no matter a practitioner’s aptitude.”

“That’s teacher speak for what? You read the papers and know that the Wayne family took me in?”

There were probably zombies shuffling through the city dumps that knew about Jason’s rescue from the foster system by Bruce Wayne. It would have been big news regardless, but Jason’s fostering came eight months after Bruce announced his son and heir to society. That had been page front page scandal all the way. When he brought Jason into his home, speculation on Jason’s paternity went wild. The press hadn’t gotten close enough to ask Jason though, and no one at the school risked angering after his first day. It’s not that Jason wouldn’t tell anyone though. He knew exactly who his father was.

Mr. Nelson began rummaging through the stack of papers on his desk. They were balanced on top of each other, fluttering on a mess of books, parchments and scrolls of varying yellow. The chaotic spread of knowledge contrasted with the way Mr. Nelson ordered his classroom, lame jokes aside.

“I do not have to speculate. The Wayne name is just as venerated as the Maxwell-Huerrs and you obviously show such promise. No, I just want you to know that your promise means you must work especially hard to learn the fundamentals. Now that we know how your potential manifests, we can take additional precautions. Here we are.” He pulled out a red book without toppling his paper mountains. The cover had squiggly symbol writing Jason associated with doctors and the occult.

“I want you to start working within this book alongside our classroom primer. Please turn in the chapter assignments I'm about to provide with your homework,” he said.

Jason winced. “You want to double my homework. I must have done something really bad if you’re trying to punish me?”

“No, no, you misunderstand. I want you to use this book instead. They follow the same sequence of lessons as your current primer but additional protections are woven into these circles. Students with tremendous magical aptitude are required to use the red texts. It's very important that you have a strong foundation in circle protections.” He held the book out for Jason with a helpful smile. The smile didn’t budge, not even when Jason sat there, brow cocked, because he didn’t want extra work. No one did. And it didn’t move when Mr. Nelson finally dropped the book. Jason lunged out of seat, bent waist, and knees banging the floor to catch it before the ground.

“Man, you can’t just. That.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes and glared. “You can’t treat books like this. Even I know that.”

“It’s fortunate to us both that you have such a great respect for knowledge, if not authority,” Mr. Nelson said, voice mild. “Be at ease, Jason, this book will assist in your language acquisition as well.”

Jason couldn’t stop the groan. “So it’s double the summons homework and Latin homework.”

Now Mr. Nelson’s smile deepened. “Needs must, Jason. Needs must.”

“Yeah? What does that mean?”

Mr. Nelson blinked at his tone. “Well. It means that I’d like for you to complete the exercises on pages three, six, seven, and nine and turn them in for grading by Thursday. That should get you up to speed.”

“Really?” Jason couldn’t fake his confusion this time, the shock and annoyance. All that work on top of his other classes?

“Really, Jason. Needs must.”

“Yeah? Tell me, professor, what does that mean this time?”

Mr. Nelson was saved from offering another excuse by the church bells tolling. Mr. Nelson’s smile became pleased. “It means you are excused.”

  


* * *

  


Jason made it to the next corner when his arm was unceremoniously yanked into the boy’s bathroom. He spun around, fists curled, arms ready to block a blow, and found himself eye to eye with the shrimps from his summons' class. They stared at him with wide, anxious eyes, like very persistent baby seals.

“Well? What did he say?” Stephanie demanded. Tim hovered at her elbow alternating between curiosity and slow death by embarrassment.

“What the hell, Brown?” Jason snatched his arm free and glared them both. “You looking to try out the season’s colors?” He gave a quick jab at the wall annoyed at being startled enough for his accent to break through. Accents from across the city could be heard here from Gotham Elite to Old Town to the Tri-Corners here, but no one sounded as close to the gutter as Jason.

She and Tim exchanged a series of shrugs and headshakes, before she says, “I don’t know what that means, Jason?” earnest and prim.

“There’s a lot of that going on today.” Jason let his hands fall. “It means I was about to dot your eyes. Don’t go around grabbing me like that, okay?”

Stephanie tossed her hair but managed to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, truly. Everything was so crazy yesterday and then they sent the cleanup crew after class and now you’re meeting with Mr. Nelson.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I just got so worried.”

“Cleanup crew?” Jason’s got a pretty good understanding on how the school works, how the people are, where to go and who to avoid, but in two months of the Academy, he’s never heard that term before. “Those guys with the buttons yesterday? What about them?”

“They’re the ones who come to clean up any magical mistakes,” Stephanie said. “If a spell gets out of hand or an enchantment goes rogue. Like, well. There was one girl opened a portal to the Forgotten Kingdom and got stuck in it when it started to collapse.”

“That’s a rumor,” Tim said, softly.

“Yeah. But Marguerite Comtois always talks about her sister being in the classroom that day. And there are some twelfth years who swear that they saw her butt and legs kicking out in thin air from the hallway.”

“There’s no record though,” said Tim. “All of the school incidents are recorded and available in the library. I’ve never seen them.”

“What do you think all those eye witnesses are, Tim?”

Tim considered the question. “Liars?”

Stephanie’s eyes grew wide. “Marguerite’s sister would never lie!” she huffed.

Jason swung his arm between the two of them. “Back to your corners you two. We’re talking about my possible,” he stressed the word clearly. “Situation. Remember?” He waited until they turned sullen glares to him rather than each other. “Okay then. You think I made some kind of mistake yesterday?”

“They were pretty much running to the classroom so yes, yes I do. Don’t you, Tim?” They turned back to the younger boy who blinked owlishly at them both. “Tim was saying that something pretty spectacular had to happen for the protections to be blown like that.”

Jason stroked his chin thinking quickly. “Mr. Nelson said I was pushing on the protective circle when I tried pulling elements. Like, I was weakening them with my magic or something.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” said Steph. “I mean, the only way you can weaken protections from the inside out is if you’re hurt or if you’re tried or your magic is fading.” She ticked each one off on her fingers

“Or if—” Tim stopped when their eyes lit on him again.

“Jesus, kid. Am I that damn intimidating? You didn’t have no problems talk to me yesterday,” Jason groused, arms folding across his chest. “Spit it out.”

“Stephanie is right about weakening protections but those reasons stand true if they are your own protective spells. Jason, you’re very strong, but I don’t think you would be able to match Mr. Nelson’s power. Few in the world can. And.” Tim looked down at the floor, pale cheeks flushing. “And while I do find you are intimidating, I’m not afraid of you. You just. Didn’t seem interested in talking to me, so I decided it best that Steph speak.”

“Well. I wasn’t,” said Jason, gruffly. “But you know a lot more about this than I do right now. Both of you. So, I’ll listen for now,” he added to make sure they understood their friendly information exchange had a time limit. He just wanted a little help understanding what went on in class, his episode especially, not become part of an amateur sleuthing club that met in the boys bathroom.

Jason looked around their surroundings and frowned. “Why are we in the bathroom anyway?”

“Oh.” Steph’s cheeks got really red really fast. “I might have followed Tim in. I was talking to him. And then I saw you and now. It’s not like this is planned!” she continued over Jason’s barking laughter. “This place is gross and smells funny.”

Every bathroom Jason had seen on campus looked like this one; a stylish marble trough for hand washing and a small table against the wall that had baskets of clean cotton hand towels, hand lotion, and disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste. It even had those plastic pick things that had floss on one end. The urinals were hidden behind a wall and the door at the end of the room with the words “Gentleman’s Room,” etched into the frosted glass. Yeah, there was the faintest odor of stale piss, but some guys never learned how to aim. Jason had seen much worse and told them so, gaze lingering at the flicker of movement against the far wall.

“What are you looking at?” Tim asked, searching behind him.

Jason shook himself. “Nothing, man. Anyway, you think Mr. Nelson was lying or something?”

Tim’s big eyes widened in disbelief, astonished that Jason could think such a thing let alone say it out loud. “No! No. I just mean. He was next to you when your circle lit up, he didn’t see.”

“Didn’t see what?” Steph grabbed hold of his arm and tugged him close oblivious to the sudden flush to Tim’s pale cheeks. Obviously, the girl has no concept of personal boundaries.

“Jason’s circle from the other day. I know I didn’t imagine it but I couldn’t be sure what happened. I wanted to research it first.”

Research? Jason held back a snort because of course Tim wanted to verify his observations or whatever. It was like Tim was truly a grown up trapped in a child’s body. The near opposite of what Jason had become used to living in Wayne Manor. “Tim, man. Could you finish a sentence please because all this cryptic bullshit ain’t working for me.”

“The magic circle we made the other day. Before it exploded, I saw something inside of it. It was like a line moving through circle.” Tim’s voice softened. “All the books say that sometimes, a searching spell can find their way through the protective maze. I think. I think something was looking for you, Jason. And the only things in the void who can do that, who want to find the root of a summons are demons.”

Stephanie’s gasp knocked Jason from his reverie. He swept a glance over them, frowning when he noticed how they all three seemed to have stepped closer to each other. He was practically shoulder to shoulder with Brown and Tim’s bright eyes focused worriedly on him but also searching for a reaction. 

He stepped back and forced a shrug. “Don’t be so dramatic, kid. It won’t help you in the long run.”

“You don’t think Tim is lying do you?” Stephanie whirled on him, hair fanning in a clean circle, and placed one hand on his hip in a pose Jason had come to think of as battle ready. “He doesn’t do that and you know he’s one of the smartest kids in this place. Mr. Nelson said there was a power overload and Tim thinks maybe something was trying to find its way in through the protections.” Steph jabbed her finger at each point. “It’s not like they can’t be related. All kinds of things live in the void just waiting to come through. And that would explain why the cleanup crew were called.”

“I never called Tim a liar. Just told him to be stop being so dramatic.”

“Well, then what do you think happened?” asked Stephanie. “You had to have seen something.”

“You don’t think something was trying to find its way through your protections?” Tim chimed in.

They seemed like good kids, really wanting to understand and help, and that’s exactly why Jason let the amused grin unfurl. “I’m just saying whatever Tim thinks is lurking out there might not have been looking for me specifically, jeez.” Jason pushed back his sleeves and looked at the sweet time piece on his wrist. “We’re gonna be late to class. Think we can adjourn this meeting, gang?” Neither Steph nor Tim laughed at the golly-gee he pitched into his voice.

“Fine,” said Steph. “Just be careful, Jason. They don’t send the cleanup crew for nothing.”

“Be careful. Huh?” Jason flashed a sharp grin. “Never heard that one before. I’ll give it a try this time. See if something different happens.”

 


	3. It's a Struggle to be a Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has plans, but what sparked this desire? _FLASHBACK!_ and find out how the struggles of the past and acoustic freestyle jam sessions of the present will shape his future.
> 
> A hero’s story has to start somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has overt and implied mentions of emotional and physical child abuse during part i. Read [never again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5591197) for a little more detail about what followed for Jason and Willis Todd. It got a lot worse before it got better.

**i.**

Once, Jason thought that discovering he could sense magic was the worst moment of his life.

It happened near the end of August when the sweltering heat of Gotham’s summer broke and life seemed almost bearable again. The front door of the apartment slammed shut in the early evening, far too early for Willis Todd to come home. His muffled curses filtered through the thin walls warning that he wasn't happy to be there.

Jason stood in the kitchen trying to skim the last of the peanut butter across two slices of bread when Willis walked inside. He shuffled to the end of the counter because keeping his back to his dad was a bad idea and watched all of Willis’ movements out the corner of wary eyes. He stood in the doorway, face hard with expectation, until Jason made a small show of sweeping the crumbs into the sink.

Willis was a big man whose carved, handsome looks had faded leaving a fraying, hollow-eyed meanness in its place. The unraveled ends of his jeans and shirts, the grimy ends of his red hair, and the short straws of his temper were always pealed back to the root. He ran a small time transportation business that took light freight across town but it was only a front. His real work was ferrying packages around the west side for Gotham's less savory criminal elements. The Italian families, the Irish Terror Squad, the Black Mask Demons, Willis had a small angle on many of the city’s powerful crime syndicates, although he’d yet to make a name for himself. But it wasn’t respect and it wasn’t money that drove him. As far as Jason saw, Willis barely got any of those things, but the other penny ante crooks knew his name, challenged him enough to get the blood pumping through his body, and maybe that was enough for him.

“Should’ve known you’d be in here eating up my food,” Willis finally grunted. “Did you make the run up to the White Garden?”

“Yeah,” said Jason. He had started meeting Willis’ contact in restaurant beside the White Garden, an aging curio shop owned by the Sing family. They bought and sold items of antiquity with minimum questions. A lot of trade moved through those doors, and Willis finally got his own cut to profit from, at least, that’s what Willis said. He began reporting his trip to China town.

The morning sun had found Jason riding the bus to the White Garden, an established antiquities shop on Gotham's west side. Something had been wrong, Jason knew it the second his feet turned down the block. The feeling pushed Jason to continue past the dusky windows of the store. He had asked careful questions at a bodega at the other end of the block and discovered that the White Garden’s doors had been locked all morning and the eerie neon green sign was off, something no one in the neighborhood could ever recall happening. He reported this to Willis who only frowned harder.

“TwoFace. No one thought he’d be back on his feet so soon. Them masks are gonna have to move now.” Willis moved to cross his chest when he seemed to notice the small package cradled in his hands. His skin paled. “Is that what this is?” He tossed a small tan package onto the table. It was a small, innocuous motion that caused Jason’s world to explode.

A sound ripped through the air, sudden and strong, growing louder and louder until all Jason could hear was the white static thumping louder than his own heart. It sounded like every terror he ever experienced, every creak and groan from the darkest corner, ever nail scraping across a single chalk board, every knife scraping the bone. And the sound felt bad, real bad, like the nights he used to scuttle through the warehouse district looking for his mom and it seemed like there were unblinking eyes in every corner. He fell to the floor with a sharp cry, hands scrabbling at his ears, pressing his palms to his head to keep the sound out. Willis jerked Jason up by the collar shaking him, mouth was moving angrily, but Jason couldn’t hear the words, could barely catch his breath with the sound creeping through him. Jason couldn’t remember the last time he called Willis “dad” but he did that night, face wet with sweat and tears. There was a danger of showing any kind of weakness in the Todd household but he couldn’t stop it. Not this time.

“I can’t,” Jason whispered, voice broken from holding back another raw scream. “Dad. I can’t.”

Willis’ palm bounced across Jason’s cheek knocking the ringing from his ears. It was the first time he’d used his hands for mercy in a long time. Even the shock of pain was better than the paralyzing sound slowly unwrapping from Jason’s body.

“You hear me now?” Willis asked, pulling his hand back again. The other gripped Jason’s shoulder tightly.

Jason nodded body slumping heavy from relief. The sound was gone.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?” Willis sounded afraid.

“Don’t know,” Jason gasped. “That. Um. That package. It’s. It’s got something in it. I think. It made this sound. And it…. You didn't hear it?”

“Magic,” Willis spat, twisting his fingers in the fabric of Jason’s shirt. “They said only magic folk would be able to feel that hex. You magic now?”

“No. No.” Jason forced his body to still to keep, his eyes focused on his dad’s electric eyes so similar to his own. He could read the thoughts there, knew exactly where Willis could start seeing him as a threat and Jason knew he wouldn’t survive that path. He swallowed, let a tremble into his voice. “I don’t know, Willis. You tell me.”

“Your mom always said she could see things. Said it’s why she always took that shit. I never believed her.” Willis dropped his son to the ground. “Pretty like her. Fucking dreaming like her. Now you got magic like her. You spent so much time with her when you were a boy. Knew it was wrong, knew it would make you weak.”

Jason curled on his side. Willis usually had a couple bottles in him before he went on about his mother and it never ended well for either of them. Sad as it was, those were the only times Jason knew his father had been a better man once, or at least a man who hadn’t drowned in anger all the time. It never lasted long.

He felt Willis’ eyes roll over him, sharp and appraising.

“Maybe you’ll finally be useful to me.”

Training started soon after, at least that’s what Willis called Jason sitting at the dinner table from mid-morning to dark. Willis would drag an old duffle bag full of junk and set each item before him. Jason would concentrate on each items in game of trial and error that ended in Jason staving off pain in his head, all to see if he could sense magic.

“What about this one?” he would say, shoving a heavy mantel piece at his son, grunting when Jason shook his head.

“This one?” A tray of tiny spoons, age disgracing the silver’s dull glow.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he said after narrowing his eyes at the things.

“What did I tell you about that?” Willis slammed his hand on the table. “Be careful, boy. You’re toeing the line of disrespect.”

Jason swallowed at the reminder of all the imaginary lines he’d crossed before. “I’ll try again.”

He focused on it, really tried to bridge the distance between himself and the spoons because there was something, something he could almost hear. A tiny clink of glass maybe. It’d be better if he could touch the items but Willis had grabbed his wrist and twisted the first time Jason waved his hand over a tiny book. Willis hadn’t thought his little “carnival flair” wasn’t necessary.

The delicate scrap rang in Jason’s ear again. He could almost see the spoon circling the bottom of a porcelain cup, pale lips pulled in a satisfied smile. And suddenly his mouth flooded with a bitter taste. “Yeah,” he choked. “Them spoons are magic.”

“Good.” Willis shifted them to the keep side of the table before pulling out another object to test. “Try this one.”

Jason learned rather quickly that his sideshow act went beyond the pain of hexes and curses. He could sometimes sense how much power something had, sometimes guess where they came from. He would know that carved black wood traveled from Cameroon, a striated green stone as big as his fist from La Jollet, a pair of rosary beads from a languishing grandmother in Rome, a fertility stick from the west maybe past the coast to the islands that Willis had immediately pocketed. There was always a milky residue over the things that were probably magic, something he could sense, and the more he tried, the better he got at it.

The pantry, once bare, had filled slowly with scrolls, books, old pocket watches and jewelry, anything Willis could palm, barter, or steal that might have a trace of magic. He’d sell them slowly to people Jason never wanted to meet. The only thing Jason cared about is how wrong it felt that he was happy that Willis had all fuller pockets. It didn’t make Willis less mean, but it allowed him to have the things he wanted; money, attention, women. One night Willis had even come home warmed by alcohol and the young pair of tits plastered to his side. It was the first woman Jason had seen in the place in a long time.

“Me and my friend here need to do some communicating with the spirits.” Willis had leaned over and cuffed Jason lightly. It took him three times to pull out a fading wallet but he did and then slipped out two crisp bills. “Take this and get lost for an hour.” He ran his eyes over the girl’s round hips. “Maybe two.”

She giggled, gum popping between her teeth.

“Go get some food. He eats all my fucking food,” he complained with a grin.

“Oh baby,” she had said, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. “When we’re finished connecting on that next plain, you won’t be thinking about nothing like sandwiches.”

“Let me get my stick,” Willis whispered.

After a while, Jason started running more than just the west side loop for his dad. He shimmied up storm drains for Willis, stood watch while Willis let himself into the unlocked homes just outside the city on the hunt for magical junk. He’d gotten use to the tinkle of broken glass and the heavy fear in his stomach when Willis started bringing him into other people’s homes. Willis’ hand had never felt as heavy as when they were clenched on Jason’s shoulder shoving him left to light like a human dosing stick looking for treasure.

But it wasn’t just the fact that Jason was hurting people that swirled guilt with the fear of getting caught. It was the way Willis, who had always been tight and cautious, started talking about bigger things. He’d be done with pawning those shitty trinkets soon. He’d be done with running packages from one side of town from the other. He was going to be real player in the game, was going to make a name for himself because he had an ace up his sleeve. Raised it from the dirt and it was finally, finally paying off. Willis started talking like he was a big man, like he wanted the attention that came from being a name in Gotham city that was divided by man and demon across invisible lines. Like he wasn’t afraid of the names made before Jason was even born, the Sabatino family, the Rot Worshipers, the Commissioner, or even the Dark Knight.

Everyone knew that Dark Knight crusaded the city's twilight hours protecting Gotham from true evil. Jason had thought of the Dark Knight as something like the police—nice in theory but never around when you needed him. But even he knew you didn't want the Dark Knight's eye on you.

While the money brought feelings of liberation to Willis, they never trickled down to Jason. Instead, he grew more frightened but tried his best to hide it underneath a sly grin. He’d stand there, unflinching, when Willis tucked him under one arm like a real pop should and point out the next house they would hit as they walked the neighborhood together. Laugh and nod and hope that no one would be there the following evening when he broke into their home. He’d pick as many things as he could, never too much, as few powerful items he could spare.

And then Willis said something to him that made everything change. “Come here, son,” he’d pulled Jason under his arm waving at a dark house before them. “This time I want you to go in there by yourself. Prove to me that you’re a ready to take on real challenges like a man.”

Jason had only nodded and slipped through the gate.

“Jason,” Willis hissed and Jason, a boy who went months without hearing his name not at school, and definitely not at home, turned back. “Be careful,” he urged, mouth twisted in what was supposed a comforting smile.

And that’s when Jason realized he had been so naive. Because his dad finding out he could do magic wasn’t the worst day of his life. He’d been thinking small, never knew that life could get worse than living in Crime Alley—a place so tangled with the underworld and the outerworld that even the richest companies couldn’t buy the votes to rezone and “revitalize” the place—in an old twelve floor tenement without running water and a broken furnace, where a hot meal was a sometimes thing.

It got way worse.

It got Jason kneeling on plush carpet, a bag of magic coins rattling against his belly while tiny white lights swirled about him, pushing and tugging him away from the window. “No,” he’d shouted. “No, no. Let me go!”

He had been panicked, stuck to the floor, shouts coming from the other side of the heavy wooden door. His breath quickened and his heart began to pound and Jason pushed with everything he had. A well of air whooshed from behind him sending the tiny lights crashing into the wall. Free, he’d leaped through the window. The bushes and flowers in the planter broke his fall and Jason jumped to his feet and ran, ran faster than he ever had in his life, afraid that he’d be caught, afraid that someone would know, afraid that someone would tell Willis that he didn’t just sense magic.

Jason could do magic too.

  


* * *

  


**ii.**

Stay in a place long enough and you develop a routine. Jason's daily routine started at seven, when he beat the alarm clock to wakefulness. He took a shower, spending time cleaning his body until even his toes gave that clean, lemon-fresh sparkle. He used the kit given to him by Alfred to help get a handle on his pimples and the soft pomade to sweep his unruly, dark hair into something "gentlemanly." After dressing, Jason would head to the cafeteria and was typically first and line prepared to start his day with a good meal. The tray was covered by a piping hot croissant filled with real ham and cheese and a small jar of hashed potatoes. His smoothie was made from fresh fruits that were peeled and sliced while he stood in line. The school was unreal.

Food secured for the morning, Jason headed towards the stairs. The second floor study hall had the dubious distinction of being bad luck, and was therefore nearly always empty. Jason enjoyed the privacy that came with taking his meals here. It was pretty cool for studying too, and he was rarely disturbed when the odd student came in to take advantage of the quiet often reviewing homework and looking at upcoming lessons. He had just taken a huge bite of his croissant when the chair across from him scooted backwards. A grey-eyed boy plopped down with a nod.

Jason greeted his unofficial tutor with a smile. “Hey. Didn’t know if you were gonna show today. Are you here to help me with my math again?” He asked, pulling a textbook from his bag. 

The boy leaned forward to look Jason's algebra notebook. The papers fluttered gently before coming to rest on the sample questions. Jason had worked hard to complete those and his homework the yesterday evening.

“It might go a little better if you sat over here.” Jason rocked the seat beside him with his foot.

His companion shrugged, spinning the notebook back around to face Jason. Then he stood, pushing the chair back in place before crossing to the other side.

“Thanks. Want a grape?” He waited as the boy fiddled with his faded tie before nodding. Jason set a couple of grapes on a napkin beside him, and then they began to work.

Together, they walked through Jason’s problem set from the previous class and then started reviewing his homework. Jason nibbled on his food while he watched the pencil scratch through his mistakes.

“You’re pretty good at this, huh?” Jason watched as the boy shrugged, hiding a crooked smile with his hand. Jason caught the pencil before it dropped to the floor and started to redo the problem. “Time to see if I get it this time," he said, and began working through the steps without hesitating. He moved to the next and finished the page with ease. "Man, you're really saving my life here. Is there anything I can do in return?”

The boy glanced at Jason then shook his head.

"Come on. You're really helping me here. The least I can do is help you in return. I think you know I can help you," Jason said. "So let me help you. You gonna let me return the favor?" He turned to face Jason fully, frowning before giving a slight nod. It was odd watching emotion move across the usually placid face, but Jason was pleased. “What can I do?”

The boy’s mouth opened releasing a dry, dusty scent which Jason inhaled. Jason drew another deep breath and he could hear something faint like air blowing hot and fast from between pursed lips and beneath that, he could hear laughter, the edge of a conversation whispered over and over again.

When the church bells rang, Jason was alone again. His books were closed and sitting atop his backpack. The plump red grapes sat withered on the napkin.

Jason sighed. Time to go class. 

  


* * *

  


When Jason was ten, he and the rest of the city’s fourth graders went to see “The Sound of Music” at the East Castle Auditorium in Gotham’s theater district. His charms class was eerily similar right down to the bright-eyed, short-haired teacher coaxing the class into learning basic charms and improving their casting to the tune of an old guitar.

After tossing a foam ball into the air, Ms. Wilson eased atop her stool. She waved her hand down then up again. An acoustic guitar floated into the air and she grabbed it by the neck before pulling it into her lap. Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and the rest of the class sat before her in a warded semi-circle.

Ms. Wilson smiled at them. “Okay class. You know what to do,” she said, knocking a quick rhythm on the wooden body. It was simply really: _Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, snap, snap, stomp, stomp, clap._ Some nights, the cadence haunted Jason's dreams, which was all kinds of terrifying, and Jason woke to find small magic glittering in the air. Doing homework in his sleep was lame.

The class gradually took over the beat and the ball began bouncing above them ready for the exercise to begin. Each student was expected to charm the floating ball causing magic to affect it in some way or another. It seemed easy enough, but at this school there was always a catch. They had to do it in time with the silliest song Jason had heard since kindergarten. The weekly exercise had been embarrassing at first—no one liked having to sing in front of the rest of the class—but even Jason could admit that casting seemed easier when combined with Ms. Wilson’s light strumming. He could also remember the charms better, the shape of magic in his mouth, the way it releases into the air with a quick motion of his hand. The exercise went by pretty quickly too, even when waiting your turn and scrambling to think of another charm when the one you planned was used first.

Jason’s voice quavered against the melody as he sang, “Over and over the ball will spin.” He circled two fingers and watched the faint light of magic twirl out to spin the ball.

“Into a figure eight,” sang Stephanie, sending the ball swirling in quick loops. “My rhymes will win.”

Across the circle, Rikou leaned forward in her chair. “Bobbing just like a kite into a grin!” She released a burst of magic into the air and the ball bounced as if trapped between strings and a stiff breeze before flattening and spreading into a creepy red half-moon.

“And turn into a ball again.” Ms. Wilson played the closing chords and the ball puffed into its original form. Her fingers plucked at the strings while she spoke. “Good job, guys. You’re sounding like professionals today. Are we ready for round three? This time we’re going to start with. How about you, Timothy?”

Tim straightened in his chair.

“This is a magic ball,” Tim sang tonelessly. “It climbs up the stairs.” The ball folded in half and flipped over as if it were tumbling up a flight of stairs.

“It’s curly and fuzzy and snores like a bear,” sang another student. They laughed as the red ball puffed and began grumbling out loud, husky snores.

“Very nice, Gerault,” Ms. Wilson called. “How about Parker— “ She’s interrupted by the heavy school bell echoing in the air. It was followed by the claxon chime of all the school bells tolling in unison. “Class, no pushing!” Ms. Wilson shouted, but the students were already rushing to the windows.

Jason crowded against the glass and stared down at the plaza commanding the center of the academy’s classroom buildings.

It was a long wide square covered in sturdy mason work. The plaza’s center was dominated by an elaborate fresco that blended stone and metal into huge, entwining circles that shone like brass under the sun. Between classes, many of the students rushed to take over one of the few stone tables and benches placed beneath the shade trees and planters that were always filled with colorful flowers. It was empty now, but only for the moment. Like Jason, other students began appearing in the windows facing the plaza waiting to who would respond to the warding bells. Like Jason, they wanted to see the exorcists.

They came from the south building, melting through the multi-layered protection rings that covered the entire academy's entire southern wing. Under the noonday sun the advanced students glowed with radiant light. They were tall, they were strong, they were powerful, and Jason would give anything to be in their place. He counted fifteen students who were soon joined by four teachers. No, five. Jason watched as Mr. Nelson burst from the beneath the covered entrance of their building and jog to the central plaza.

All the exorcists, teachers and students alike, converged in the center space, and after a brief discussion, fell into two evenly spaced lines.

Jason felt the Mr. Nelson’s summoning gate unfold above the plaza. The entire school probably did. It expanded out in a soundless, pulsing wave of energy that left his skin tingling. Jason could almost see it, hazy circles expanding and the fine gilded protections. Mr. Nelson brought his hand down and the gate appeared in a flash, concentric circles spinning lazily across the blue sky.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“I want to see,” Tim whispered from around his elbow. Jason sighed but plucked the small boy up and onto the window sill beside him. “Wow,” he said, shivering.

Below, the students exploded in a show of talent. Glyphs of power unfurled like banners, wrapping protections around the casters that shimmered in the light. One girl stepped to the side and her shadow pushed up from the ground, a dark copy of her own body rising to her side. In the second line, a short, dark-eyed girl pulled a sword from the air. It glowed with a cold, green fire that reflected in her eyes. A small summoning circle popped at the feet of another student with an echoing boom, and dark-haired woman climbed free. She was tall, strong, and inhumanly beautiful, seeming to grow with every step until she dwarfed her summoner. She picked him up and swung him to her shoulder in one easy motion. The boy laughed delightedly and gripped the cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

One of the professors waved their hands bringing the students to order. Her mouth moved in what was surely a rousing speech for the students each raised a hand and gave a loud cry. They were about to help the city stand against some supernatural emergency. Together, the exorcist class walked through the gate and into danger.

Jason grinned fiercely, heart thumping in his chest knowing that one day that would be him. He stood there watching until the last exorcist walked through and the gate began to swirl close.

“We’ll have to resume class tomorrow morning.” The class turned at the sound of Ms. Wilson’s voice. She stood, back to the class, dashing out an assignment on the board. “Here’s tonight’s reading. I want you to work through the paper project again tonight, okay. Let’s see if you can bring in three different charmed works on Thursday.

“Okay, everybody. You’re dismissed for study hall.”

Jason groaned quietly. His first project was already squashed in his backpack safe from human eyes. And he had to do another one. He was so disheartened that he didn’t notice Stephanie and Tim following behind him until they reached his favorite table. They looked at him expectantly.

“Go ahead,” he sighed, slinging his back onto the table. “It’s a free country.”

“We can work on charms together,” Stephanie said, climbing into the seat beside him.

“Perfect.”

A half hour later, Jason looked down at the crumpled paper in front of him and groaned. “This sucks.”

Stephanie shook her head. “This does not suck.”

“Then I suck.” He nudged the paper with a charm and watched it shiver and roll into a cone. “I mean look at this compared to your homework.” He points as Stephanie’s paper carefully turns on its side. The folds are straight, the lines even. After a moment, it unfolded into a paper bunny. One of the ears was a little longer than the other, but it was still recognizable.

“You really don’t. You just need to work harder.” Stephanie pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to him. It smelled like flowers.

“It feels useless. I don’t want to do spell crafting.” Jason pushed the paper flat against the edge of the table and started over again.

“It’s really not. And it’s not all casting. Charms are a part of enchantment too, which is one of the most complex of the occult arts.” Sometimes Stephanie spoke as if repeating another’s words. This was one of those times.

“That’s because you’re etching the spell into something. You don’t have to have a lot of magic, just a really intelligent understanding of how things might work.” Jason repeated his own lecture with confidence, having seen a lot of enchanted objects over the past few months at the manor. He might not know much but he understands that just fine.

“What about you, Tim?” Jason tapped him with the end of his pencil. “A wiz kid like you should be dying to become an enchanter.”

Tim shook his head. “No. I already have a strong affinity with an element. After school, I’d like to go into thaumaturgical research.”

Jason glared at him. “That’s not even a real word,” He said, pushing an eraser into Tim's side.

Tim squirmed away from Jason’s poking pencil stifling a giggle. “It is! It is!” he insisted. “I read about it.”

“No one calls it that anymore,” Stephanie said, tugging her notebook form under Jason’s elbow. “He means he’s going to work on the magician tract. It’s very dangerous but also very easy to learn.” She grinned at Tim’s opened mouth look of betrayal.

“Burn,” said Jason.

“What about you, Jason? I know it’s early for all of us, but do you have any intentions for your magical concentration?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m shit at everything except summoning. I’ll probably follow that. Work my way into the exorcist course.” He thought back to the class rushing to help the city with some unknown danger.

“You want to be an exorcist?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of strange stuff out there.” Jason uncurled his paper with a sigh. It just didn’t want to work for him. He decided to go back to his Latin homework. Dead languages hadn’t betrayed him yet. “It’s the best way I know how to help people. Banish demons so they don’t hurt anyone. Like the Dark Knight.”

“You think the Dark Knight is an exorcist?” Tim asked, looking up from his homework for the first time since they sat down.

“He’s got to be, right? They say the demon gangs run when they hear his name.” Stephanie watched her bunny hop over to her stack of books.

“My dad always said he must be one of the Kings of Hell. But I don’t believe it,” Tim added with a quick glance out the window as if the Dark Knight was waiting there to listen to kids gossip about him. Jason grinned at the thought.

“You don’t have to be a summoner to be an exorcist though.” Stephanie said, pulling out another sheet of paper for herself, this time a cool shade of eggplant. “All tracts have the option. You just focus on how to use your gifts for that specific task.”

“I know that. But trust me. I’ll be good at it.” Jason moved to the next line sentence to be translated. “What about you, Brown? You already know what sequence you’re going to go for?”

“Not really,” she replied, frowning at her paper. “It’s not like my family has a line of magic users to lead the way. I know what my affinity is, but not what I can do with it.”

“You could be like me. Become an exorcist.” Jason winked.

“Running after demons, spirits, imps, ghouls, and. And,” she trailed off.

“Ghosts,” Tim offered.

Stephanie welcomed the addition to her list with a nod. “And ghosts too. Trying to seal them back on their own plain doesn’t seem like something I want to do. Especially when they don’t want to be there in the first place.”

“You scared, Brown? I thought it’d be the other way around. One look at you and they’d be running for the summoning gate.” Jason laughed as her bright blue eyes narrowed at him in a fierce glare. “Yeah, like that.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m not scared of anything, Todd. But I know better than to mess around with those kinds of things.”

“What’s that?” Tim asked suddenly. He pointed at the scrawl of Jason’s hand writing as it trailed out of his notebook and onto his charms homework. Jason looked down confused at the trail of words repeating over and over again.

“Here comes the sun?” read Stephanie. “What does that mean?”

“Uh,” Jason struggled to find an answer but his mind was blank. He didn’t even remember writing them down. “Just something stuck in my head, I guess.” He flipped the page and started over again.

  


* * *

  


Summoning wasn’t about drawing perfectly round circles or contracts. It was about organizing a plan, establishing an ordered pattern out of seemingly endless points, and executing through repetition of key ideas. Sure, there were gates and understanding spirit planes and mazes, but having a plan and executing it were the things that made sense to Jason. Summoning also took a steady hand, which Jason could only manage when he crammed his fingers at the bottom of the chalk and pressed hard.

Jason shook the cramping sensation from his right hand. “Mr. Nelson makes it look so easy,” he grumbled, stepping back to observe his work.

The dark wall of the practice lab was covered in white chalk. Heavily lined circles wound at the outer corners followed by half-moons that connected at the ends and formed diamonds. At the summons center was the open circle representing the spirit gate followed by the order ring and ordinate ring. The next ring was a simple protective spell wove through a thin band of what Jason called “fiddly-bits.” Jason drew the next circle, the spirit gate, from memory. It was a ring of triangles inside of hard lines and unknown words he’s never found again but the shape of them, the way they had closed in around his body and took his air, Jason would never forget.

A yellow post-it note fluttered in the very center of that ring smeared by his red thumb print. He checked again just to be sure all of the chalk connected and that there were no thin lines before tearing out a sheet from his notebook. All in all, it looked like a solid reproduction of what his new primer calls an intermediate gate. It wasn’t pretty, but it would work. Probably. He reached for the second part of his summons, the binding inquiry, and moved to sit cross-legged in the middle of the protective circle he’d drawn on the floor.

Crafting spells was something students Jason’s age could do, but it went beyond the foundational work Jason was learning his charms class. Another reason he hated being held back. He’d read one or two books at the manor (once Alfred cornered him in the library and passed out assigned readings), but he’d never really done them before. On the other hand everything suggested keeping a basic command or two was best because then the summoned would understand them better and there was less of a chance of them angry if they feel mislead. Jason’s spell was simply two lines.

He smoothed the damp paper on trousers and read the spell again to make sure he knew the words and would not hesitate. When he was finally ready, Jason spoke in a calm, sure voice saying, “If you are friend, appear before me. If you seek me, speak the truth. If you are a friend appear before me. If you seek me, speak the truth.” He clapped once, the paper crackling between his palms, and the sound waved forward widening to ripple across the chalked wall or maybe it was his magical essence, a dusky rose residue that hung just beyond his sight.

Breathing deeply, Jason began to draw that focus inward, down to the asphalt covered ground and the shimmering black in his mind. He fell quickly, landing in the center of the void quickly and could feel his body grin outside in mild triumph. He’s getting faster which meant he was also getting better.

Jason approached the black expanse of the boundary again. This time he saw the faint lines of his protective circles swirling, shining like blue starlight in the near dark.

 _If you are a friend, appear before me. If you seek me, speak the truth_ , Jason recites again then claps his hands watching the wave spread out again rolling like clouds in a dark sky. Everything he had read said that magic clusters at the boundary attracting like energies. Whatever he saw yesterday should still be out there waiting for him to coax it through the gate. Because if Jason could bring over a spirit animal or familiar—and it has to be some wolf thing with those sharp blue eyes—he’d be able to prove to Bruce that he doesn’t’ need the song and dance of the Academy to help him. He can do just fine on his own, and maybe a little more tutoring from Alfred.

But nothing happened.

Jason cupped his hands to his mouth and calls out, _hey, out there. Hey, blue-eyes! I came back to visit and you can’t say hello?_

His voice ended at the boundary unwilling to echo back. He waited and waited but there was no sign of movement from the void. The cool blue center of his summoning circle, the gate that opened between one world to the next, was empty. Which was cool, he supposed. He did sound kind of lame there. If he were a… a whatever, he wouldn’t have answered either.

Heeding the various warnings for caution, Jason began preparing his mind for exiting the void. He started by counting to ten, then imagined himself breathing. With each breath, he let his consciousness sink up into his body. The sensation reminded Jason of the times he swam to the bottom of the pool and sat there under the wavering blue until his arms floated out and his body lifted, slow and steady. It had always felt like flying and Jason had imagined that he was in the thick folds of the sky where the atmosphere must bounce the body gently enough for flight. Then Jason would extend his legs, his hips bunched, head and spine breaking to the surface, and he would tilt his head back slowly, the fizzing silence of the water breaking. He came back to the real world in much the same way except this time, Jason could hear the sound of a boy laughing as the surface lapped at his back, his neck, over his ears, laughing and calling, _this one is found_.

Jason wrenched his eyes open, coughing. His throat hurt like he’d been holding his breath. His eyes traveled up the wall while he drew in another deep breath, and stopped when he got to the center.

The yellow paper posted in the center circle looked charred at the edges.

“Shit,” Jason hissed. Not only did it looked singed but a sooty trail surrounded it, a trail that spun its way out from the circle’s center and through his carefully drawn patterns like pencil dust through a maze. Jason stood slowly and followed the trail with his eyes, and with his finger hovering in the air above him. Eventually, he found where it began, on the oriental line. His brow furrowed. The oriental line represented the path to the astral plan which was where spirits and demons existed.

Maybe Tim was right. Maybe something was looking for him. Maybe something eager to claim what was Jason’s one and only possession on earth that was his alone; his life.

“Maybe I need to talk to Bruce about this,” he muttered, then began dusting the chalk from the wall.

 


	4. Knock on the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conveniently timed teacher work day allows Jason to receive help from Gotham's mightiest hero. Is that a summoning circle on the floor?
> 
> A hero's journey has to start somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! And a huge thank you for your comments and your kudos. They feed the writer's soul, you know? I'm tossing a few more cameos into the background and hopefully laying the ground work for the future. Recognize any heroes or villains?

i.

Jason stood in the shadows of the academy’s stone colonnade, tugging a hoodie over his head. A cold front had snapped through the city and all the weathermen were freaking out with it being so close to spring. He’d admit to being chilly but waiting outside on the front steps was way better than standing around listening to kids brag about two day trips to the Bahamas.

The constant three day weekends had to be the best part of attending the Maxwell-Huerr Academy of the Occult Arts. It seemed like there was a teacher work day every month. After the disaster that was Monday’s summoning class and his charms homework, Jason believed he deserved a break.

It wasn’t long before a pistol-grey sports car wheeled into the driveway, engine humming with restrained menace. It was the kind of vehicle that made Maserati weep and Boss want to take their luxury muscle back to the scrap yard. Fighting back the grin was hard, but Jason tried not to let it show how cool it was Bruce came to pick him up. He loved riding around in his high powered toys and listen to the engine rev as they raced to the countryside. Jason hadn't hammered out a deal that would get him driving one yet, but he’s working on it.

Bruce hopped out of the car with a huge wave. He was built like an icepick and was twice as sharp with the way he constantly fooled people into believing the only places he excelled were the boardroom and the bedroom. Around the manor, Bruce seemed more restrained, his motions tight, his smiles slight curves. In public, Bruce was a whole other animal.

“Sorry I’m running late, Jason. You would not _believe_ the time I had escaping the office,” he said in that deep, polished voice of his that reminded Jason of radio commercials—too bright and too cheerful to be real. He moved effortlessly up the steps and grabbed the small bag at Jason’s side.

"You’re right on time, man. I just came out a little early because I know how Alfred is.” And he hated making the guy wait. They circled to the rear of the car and the trunk popped free with a soft click, rising without their help. Jason swung his backpack into the trunk.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder once, grip solid and sure. “Speaking of Alfred, I promised that I would relax the entire weekend. To show that I’m ready for the vacation, I got us tickets to the Gotham City Royals game Saturday, but it’s up to you boys to make sure I don’t sneak off to take care of business.”

Jason grinned. The Royals were playing the Yankees as the season opener. “Sounds good to me. Don’t know how Damian will feel about it though.”

"You have a point there.” Bruce smiled wryly. “Maybe we’ll team up and make sure Damian relaxes.”

The school doors opened behind them. Jason turned to find several of his peers clustered in the under the archway and in the windows working up the nerve to pull out their cellphones.

“Looks like that’s our cue,” said Bruce. The car doors slammed shut before the first cry of Bruce Wayne shattered the air and exited the academy ground in a huge roar of engines and screams. Just another thing that Jason doubted he’d ever get used too.

The river district where the academy called home, with its winding walkways and heavy greenery, soon gave way to the high rises and open parks of uptown Gotham. Jason studied the cityscape streaking beside them. It was different from Jason’s neighborhood, Park Row, with its black security bars, dilapidated overhangs, and graffiti tagging across the metal grates of constantly closed shops. Here, Gothamites trudged against the wind on wide sidewalks with the collars of their designer jackets tugged up to their ears and walked into restaurant whose doors were wide open in hopeful invitation. The buzz of conversations swelled at the corners, overcoming the squeaking breaks and honking horns that generally dominated Gotham traffic. Pedestrians waited to cross the street, talked on cell phones, bumped and shuffled hurridedly through their day unaware that beside them swam the silent flames of the dead.

The ability to see the spirit world was only one of the twisted marks left on Jason’s soul. Before starting the academy, Jason could only see the odd spirit flame popping in and out of existence. Since he began learning magic it had only grown worse, resulting in conversing with the tiny remembrance of souls that floated in the air above his bed like shimmering dust moats and the occasional student that still roamed the halls. As Jason stared at the window, he thought he might see every spirit in Gotham. They moved gently, a half-step behind the world’s motion appearing as little lights ringing together and other times, blurred figures strolling beside the living. In the windows of older buildings, he could find spirits flashing into existence stuttering through the last moments of their lives on an endless loop.

The car rolled to a halt at a stop light. Jason glanced over his shoulder then snapped his gaze back to the oddity that dared stare back. One of Gotham’s old-timey ghosts paused in its waddle, legs fading just below the crowded sidewalk. The ghost’s black top hat sat at a jaunty angle and a fading white scarf wrapped around its bleeding neck. Their eyes met and Jason’s breath caught in his throat as the spirit’s fiery gaze followed from behind a cracked monocle. The spirit’s head twisted around and around, gaze steady, until Bruce pulled onto the next street. It’s only then that Jason exhaled.

“If I remember correctly, you had a pretty big paper coming up in your Latin class. How is that going?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said, welcoming the distraction from the ghost's burning eyes. “It was more like a research thing. We had to go to the library and pick sources that explained the meaning of the spells we’re translating. It wasn’t hard, but I don’t get what those myths have to do with casting spells.”

Bruce tilted his head, considering. “Try looking at it this way. What do you think you’re supposed to be getting out of the research paper?”

“Probably something about language being magic. The way my teacher tells it, a lot of these stories actually happened. The details are shaky but the magic in myth is real. We kind of make them come alive again when we’ll start reciting the spells. And there’s got to be something there about the language being inherently special. I figured that out when we started adding words to the magic circles in my summoning class.” There’s burst of quickly suppressed excitement in his voice, not because he’s showing off or anything, but Jason’s been thinking about this and. And Bruce actually listened.

“I think that’s why the Academy makes us learn Latin first. It’s stable and I don’t know. It’s like Tetris.” Jason traced a line squares in the air and pushed them together. “You're really just stacking all the words together to build a spell. Makes it easy to fit an idea into the protection of the circle. What do you think?”

“I think you’re much further along in theory than you’re letting on,” said Bruce. “They shouldn’t have changed the curriculum too much since I’ve graduated, and Daakar’s treatise on The Order of Language in the Supernatural Realm was taught during the Academy’s fifth sequence. You’re still in the first.”

“I didn’t actually read it.” Jason confessed. “One of those library books I checked out mentioned it. I think it was by some guy called Mazzerine? I got a headache trying to get through that one, but I understood the parts about structure. He made it sound like Latin is strong and solid, like the base of a bridge. You get it right and you can build anything on top of it.”

When Jason looked up again, Bruce was nodding along. “Sounds like your paper is going to be excellent.”

“Yeah, well. I’m only halfway through the translation part though.” He scratched is cheek fighting back a triumphant grin when a thought strikes him. “What does Damian use when he summons?”

“Damian is fluent in English and Arabic, and he began learning Greek while in his mother’s care. I believe he’s studying Cantonese at the moment. But Damian is not proficient in summoning. His family follows a very narrow path, and he has no interest in mastering any of the lesser arts.” Bruce smiled faintly. “His words, not mine.”

Jason’s head thunked against the leather headrest. “I’ve got so much to learn, don’t I?”

“Yes,” said Bruce. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. I have both Daakar and Mazzerine in the library. We could tackle a chapter this evening if you’d like.”

“Hmm,” Jason narrowed his eyes. “It sounds like you’re trying to add to my homework.”

“And here I thought I was being subtle. Curses!” Bruce waggled his fingers above the steering wheel, smiling at the laugh Jason muffled against the palm of his hand.

As the car chased curves along the coast, Jason realized that he’s never disappointed when Bruce showed up. Certainly not the first time Jason laid eyes on him when Jason had knelt against an invisible barrier, body weak, vision blurred, before the Dark Knight burst into the room lit by the black fires of a sword that cut his soul free. And not the second time, when Bruce Wayne burst through the doors of the police patrol room, illuminated by camera lights, ready to save Jason from a system broken by good intentions. He was a pretty standup guy, earning the only commodity Jason had to give: trust.

It was a two-way street. Bruce seemed to trust Jason with a lot of things, including the right to hold back his questions on the issue they’ve both got to be thinking about. Jason decided to pull the trigger.

“Did the school call you about what happened?" He asked, watching Bruce's face carefully. He caught a flicker behind Bruce's pale eyes and knew the answer. "That was a stupid question wasn’t it? Of course they called you,” Jason said. “You probably knew the second I stepped into the circle. Some freaky Dark Knight warning system, right?”

“The Academy called me because you are my ward,” said Bruce. “And because there was a magical anomaly that occurred on campus. As I understand it, all parents receive some kind notification if something out of the ordinary happens.”

“Their phone must stay off the hook.” Jason muttered. “Nothing ordinary about that place.”

“Ordinary is relative,” said Bruce.

“That’s not a no though, right? About the warning system?”

“Jason.”

“I just want to be clear.”

“Jason, are you asking if I have placed any protective spells on you?” He could feel Bruce’s gaze even though he was facing forward, eyes on the road.

“Well, yeah. I guess I am,” Jason said, chin jutting up.

“I have placed you under my protection, and yes that means protective magic,” Bruce said after a moment. “Your watch is enchanted and your phone’s GPS capabilities are. Let’s call them expanded for lack of a better term. But have I placed any protected magics on your person directly? No.”

Bruce turned to him and his expression had changed from the carefree suave of Bruce Wayne to the clear-eyed authority Jason came to recognize as Bruce’s serious face. It was the tension in his jaw and the way his lips flattened that let Jason know it happened—the switch—when Bruce went into Dark Knight mode.

“I made you a promise when I took you in, Jason,” he said somberly. “I would never practice magic on your person without your clear permission.”

“I remember,” Jason said, cutting his eyes away.

“Damian, Alfred, and I all hold to this promise.”

“I know.” Jason had his own promise: do not practice magic outside of the Academy guidelines without Bruce or Alfred nearby. It only took him a few weeks out of the manor to break it. His little trip into the void the other day wouldn’t count as homework. He bit his lip thinking about the best way to tell Bruce that he had messed up, but on some level, Bruce already knew.

“Jason, what has you worried?”

“You know what happened, right?” He continued after Bruce nodded. “I saw something when I went into the void. Something I don’t think should’ve been there. It had eyes and. And they were watching me.”

“And you’re wondering if they belong to a minion of the King of Spirits,” Bruce said, giving voice to the fears that Jason couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “Even when diluted into a minion, the power of a demon king has the same aura. Did you sense that kind of power?”

“No, no it didn’t feel familiar.” Jason slumped into his seat, relieved. “I can’t really say what it was like but I know it was different. Not like….” Not like when he felt the demon king’s fire licking at his ribs. Not like when he held the soured taste of its tattered soul pulsing inside of his mouth, stripping away the layers of his life bit by bit. Not like the absolute fear of knowing he was going to die.

It amazed Jason to think that he had looked into the shrewd face of the King of Spirits, witnessed the misery and rage that roiled from behind the cat-slit eye shared between the demon’s two faces, tasted the sick taint of its power and _survived_. The presence he felt in the void was nothing like the King of Spirits. Still, it frightened him to understand, on a level that few could ever know, how the world spun idly while evil stalked the hidden spaces waiting for a chance to rise. Yet if someone as luckless as Jason could survive, so could the world, and that’s why he was here now, with Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight of Gotham, learning how to control his gifts in the hopes that he could one day protect himself and others. These thoughts kept the terror away that stomach-curdling sensation of knowing that evil knew him by name, wanted him still.

“It wasn’t like before. I think I heard laughter, but it wasn’t bad,” he added. “It sounded kind of excited, maybe? But it saw me. I know it did.”

“We’ll look into it once we get back to the manor,” Bruce said. “We’ll figure this out together, Jason. All of us.”

The surety in his voice made it sound like Bruce believed it, and so, Jason believed it too.

 

* * *

 

ii. 

Jason had good memories tucked alongside the bad ones. The bad memories were mostly sensations, time when he’d been cold, tired, and afraid, so afraid. The good memories were clear pictures that he never wanted to forget. Walking down the Gotham boardwalk with his parents on either side was his best memory. It wasn’t just the sun or the way his mother seemed there in a way she could rarely manage that made the day stick in his head. It was also the smell of hot dogs, funnel cake, and roasting popcorn heavy with salt on the sea air and the childish hope that he could have this forever. 

Movie night at Wayne Manor smelled like that day. Okay, it smelled a little better because Alfred was the popcorn master.

Jason held a big silver bowl steady while Alfred rained down freshly popped goodness. “Have you thought about making toffee corn, Alf?” he asked “Don’t get me wrong, I like kettle corn, but imagine what you could do with toffee. Or caramel.”

“I usually reserve such flavors for the holidays. As an incentive for tolerable behavior if you take my meaning,” Alfred said, mildly.

“Not you too! What’s a guy got to do to earn some loyalty in this place?”

“Homework,” said Alfred. “And perhaps some assigned reading.”

Jason chewed on his tongue while he weighed the deal. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“So I’ve been told.” Alfred switched off the stove top and began moving utensils into the sink. “Thank you for your assistance, Master Jason. I believe Master Bruce is waiting for you so that the movie can begin.”

In the media lounge, Bruce reclined at the edge of the couch while his son, Damian, stood near the projector with two movies in hand. There was a lot of Bruce in his son, physically at least. The sharp cut of Damian’s face and the ranginess in his body were all Bruce. Damian also shared the same frost-blue eyes with his father even if the shape was a narrow pear that Jason never found in the hundreds of Wayne portraits hanging on the wall. Attitude was another thing that was completely different. Bruce not only knew about life outside of the manor, he also genuinely seemed to care about people around him. Damian not so much. Everyone hinted that it came from the mother’s side of the family, but Jason thought that having to spend half the day floating in a pool of white light had everything to do with it.

Jason groaned when he saw the movie titles Damian was looking through. “Musicals again? We just watched one last week.”

Damian looked up, sleepy-eyed and frowning. He must have just climbed out of his coffin. Okay, it was a wide bed with wards crisscrossing the iron that bathed the room in white light as he slept but coffin sounded cooler. And it pissed Damian off. “It is my choice tonight, Todd.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just thought you’d make a good one.” Jason said. He sat the popcorn on the ottoman and fell into the plush couch.

Damian flashed a dark look in his direction but said no more. It was something of a relief. Jason wasn’t up for a fight tonight. The taunting was alright, Damian gave as good as he got, but it always felt awkward knowing that while Damian looked and had all the physical skills of a seventeen year old, he was really ten. On the other hand, life was short—Damian’s especially—should they really waste it watching another musical?

Jason glanced over at Bruce and winced, deciding to keep his mouth shut on that one. Kind of a sore subject for all involved.

“Action movies are nothing but glory chasing for those who feel plot may interfere with explosions. These musicals are superior entertainment.” Damian smirked. “At first I was unsure why father requested such a ridiculous medium for gathering information about our world.  If you paid attention, you could learn something about ingenuity.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I have already adopted some of the imagined ‘spells’ depicted in these movies into my studies. Father suggested this film to help me with my elocution.”

Bruce caught Jason’s gaze and smiled, used to translating. “It has tongue-twisters in it.”

“Sure it does. But that—” Jason’s interrupted when the lights in the room faded in dark red pulses. As warning systems go, it was dramatic in a silent movie kind of way. Bruce made them watch Return of the Grey Phantom the two weeks ago, and Jason found so many similarities it would have been funny if he didn’t know the Dark Knight had been around for way longer.

Alfred strolled into the room carrying a pitcher of fresh lemonade. “An emergency, sir?”

“It appears so. Alfred, I'll need you to fortify the seals, please.” Bruce grabbed a handful of popcorn opening one of a hundred passageways in the house, Jason assumed, but oh. It was actually a door into a hallway Jason hadn’t found yet. 

"At once, Master Bruce."

“Damian.”

"I'm ready, father." Damian was already jogging out the door, shouting, “Todd, this does not mean my choice is forfeit!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said, slumping into the couch.

“Jason,” said Bruce, voice already became deeper, intense. Dark Knight mode activated. “We will make this up to you.”

“No worries, man. I’ll just be here. But I can help if you need me to.” He sat up to make sure Bruce could see him, really him “You can count on me.”

“I know I can.” Bruce nodded grimly before sweeping into the shadowy hall.

Jason took a look around the room where he sat alone. “Sure you do,” he muttered, then fidgeted in his chair. Alone again, which sucked, but how could he complain about it when there was so much important at stake.

For nearly 200 years, the Waynes of Gotham had ensured all the people in their reality were protected from the destructive forces vying for control of their reality. Demons, like the ones Jason had become too familiar with, were real and desperate to control the powerful magics and the borders and that they needed bodies to survive in this world, and la de freaking da, Bruce Wayne was the Dark Knight! It was in this very room that Bruce had explained how Gotham was built on one of the most important confluences of magic in the northern hemisphere. He told Jason that the Wayne family had been charged with guarding the leylines separating planes of existence. It was the greatest mystery in the known world revealed and Jason couldn’t tell a single soul! Because Bruce trusted him. He had granted that trust the second he brought Jason into his home, into his small, misshapen family and shared his deepest secret.

The problem was that Jason didn’t know _why_ he had that trust. If he did, then maybe he’d know exactly how to prove to Bruce that he was ready to help with his crusade. Maybe that was part of the test. He needed to figure out what Bruce wanted from him and do it. But Bruce only ever said he’d wanted Jason to learn how to protect himself.

He sat forward on the couch, thumb tucked between his teeth while he thought about what that would actually entail.

Obviously, Bruce didn’t mean going after the King of Spirits. Jason’s not dumb enough to believe he could take on a demon king alone. But if Jason discovered what was watching him maybe that would be enough. A practitioner’s best weapon was knowledge, right?

He was off like a shot in the dark racing down to the east wing that housed the library, study, and magical laboratory where he and Bruce had spent three hours reviewing old texts in the lab that afternoon. They started with Jason’s homework then moved on to working out the kinks in his essay for magical theory.

The walls of the lab were covered with practice drawings as they worked on building the foundations of Mezzanine’s summoning protectives and discussed how the spells in Jason’s new primer mirrored them. While specialized in only one form of magic, enchantment, Bruce had all the fundamentals of every magical field down and had explained how the power of these circles locked together like building blocks creating a conflux of protection. Then they went a step further with Bruce demonstrating how to practitioners could layer spells between the circles, weaving protection within protection that more thoroughly bound the summons. Even the fiddlybits had a purpose adding complexity to the circle's shape to confuse opposing magics.

With Bruce beside him, Jason easily finished a summoning circle and protective ring on the stone floor strong enough to make Mr. Kent smile with pride. It was still there, lines crisp on the dark floor daring him to try visiting the void again. The manor was triple protected from bad magic. Alfred was nearby. Really, what could go wrong?

After taking a fortifying breath, Jason stepped into the protective ring, careful to keep his sneakers away from the lines. He’d go under real quick, try to pull whatever it was over, and then get Alfred. But what would he say? Just practicing for the next practical demonstration should work. Jason winced at the idea of lying but if he told the truth, well, it sounded really stupid. He willingly called what was probably a demon sent by the really evil demon that tried to possess him a couple months back into Wayne Manor, so he could prove he'd learned enough to help the family? That wouldn't go over. 

It came back to the question Jason asked himself over and over again: what could he do to help the Dark Knight? The Dark Knight already had a partner, Squire, who was his son and a freaking beast when it came to spellcraft and, Jason admitted grudgingly, everything else. Jason just had potential but that didn’t mean he was good for a fight. The only sure thing he had right now was Bruce’s trust. If Jason broke a promise, flaunted rules, he would lose it.

Jason rubbed his hands together, warming them, then crossed his arms wishing the right answer was the thing he wanted to do. “It’d be nice if I had a little help here,” he muttered. 

The temperature of the room seemed to drop sending chills racing up his spine.

“Christ. All that money and they can’t heat this place up?” He turned about to leave, maybe, when he saw a thick plume of smoke spinning up from the center of the summoning circle. “Oh. Shit.”

The smoke billowed out until touched the edges of the summons circle, swirling and churning like storm clouds. It rolled back on itself, building upwards from the invisible wall provided by the protections. Long plumes of blue light condensed into crescent shape that waved back and forth like a swiftly growing cocoon rocked by gentle breeze. Before long the cocoon burst spilling inky streaks into the air. They fluttered as dark wings that batted against each other, expanding in long slats that arched split into a familiar nothingness, the ever-expanding blankness of the void. Jason recognized it and felt its surging cold sweep through him. And at its center danced eyes of glowing blue fire.

Jason knew that fire. It was no different in the real world, still large, all-consuming, and staring into him.

A golden line fizzled inside the smoke, hissing like the lit end of a firecracker, and began carving out a sputtering, shape that took the form of a young boy. At least, it looked human with two long arms, legs, hands, and two arched feet. Around the eyes a face began to coalesce, filling the lines like paint into a mold. A strong, straight nose poked from the center followed by a lean jaw, and a smile, fierce and wild. It cocked its head, movements slow and deliberate as it twisted to see around the room.

Its full mouth parted and if Jason needed a reminder that this thing was not human, the tongue that flicked out did the trick. It was long, forked, and the color of drying blood. It spun slowly in the circle, tongue flickering slowly side to side. When it returned to face Jason, it smiled. The boy groaned, stretching into the body of a young man, and Jason gasped, afraid, only to find the figure shifting to that of a boy again.

“Jason.” It released the sound in a low, sibilant growl.

It knew his name. Jason forced himself not to react, to demand how it knew his name. What else it might know? He cast his own eyes around the room looking for something that could help him out.

“Jason!” It repeated the word with more confidence.

The demon laughed. The sound ricocheted in the room and Jason thought it was his eyes at first, refusing to blink because he could not take his eyes of this… this thing. But as the laughter grew louder, the boy became more defined. And the longer he laughed, the fuller his form became like he was being shaded in by an outside hand. From its mouth grew a row of pointed teeth. Its finely lined fingers sprouted short, curving claws. Jason could see hair, black and heavy, swathing its pretty face with shadows. The curling smoke settled around the boy’s chest in a crooked shape that that hissed and sputtered and pulsed that same inky blue smoke.

It reached out, Jason braced himself, ready for the stinging heat of the protective barrier rising, but the demon’s hand cut through the shimmering protections. Jason watched as the ring of light unraveled fading into tiny sparkles, faster and faster, end over end like a rush of dominoes racing to the ground. There was a flash of light and another ring fell to the floor.

“Jason,” the demon repeated, sounding both delighted and disappointed. “What have you done?”

Jason jerked his gaze up. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested. “You just. You just appeared.”

It shook its head and tiny blue sparks snapped in the air. “No. This one came into the nothingness, leaking like a wound, and asked this one to help. This one called so this one must answer.”

Jason was having a conversation with a demon and it was blaming him for its sudden appearance? He staggered in the protective circle feeling faint. “Are you telling me that you followed me home because you think I need help?”

“To follow this one into the material world is easy. And this one would do so again for this one is a child that needs.” It flicked its tongue, frowning. “Protection. This one needs protection.”

“And _you_ want to look out for me? A demon wants to look out for me?

It gave him a quizzical look then nodded in agreement.

"Are you serious? Seriously, are you freaking serious right now?” Jason’s voice rose with every word. It had definitely asked the right question, which echoed in his head. _Jason, what have you done?_

“Perhaps. This one is strong but rushes stupidly like a—” it made a guttural sound like a bunch of vowels crawled into a bag then fell down ten flights of stairs. Jason stared unsure what was more surprising; a demon speaking English or a demon speaking its own language. It flicked out its tongue again and let it drag through the air. “So this one understands this one says again. Stupidly like a horse with no hand to guide it. This one asked this one to follow. This one has obeyed until now, but now this one must lead else there will be devouring. This one does not want to be other than this one.” It paused. “What is ‘you’?”

Jason floundered at the suspicious tone of that question. From where Jason was standing, he was the trustworthy one. “You is a pronoun. They’re the words we talk about our state of being,” he added when the inhuman face furrowed into an all too human confusion. “Uh. Use to separate each other on this plan? You are you. I am I. And me.”

“This one is you,” it said, pointing to Jason. It spread its long fingers and longer nails across its bared chest. “This one is I. I am a state of being. Alone.” It smiled and Jason could tell it was pleased. “This one is I. This one is you. I remember this. I have obeyed but you must listen so the summons are complete.”

Jason swallowed. “Did you want to be summoned by me?”

“I am within your circle. I have found you a third time.” Its sharp white teeth glittered in the fire’s weak light. “Do you even know what it means to have woken me in this way?”

“No,” Jason said, amazed. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“You offered two conditions. ‘If you are friend, appear before me.’ I am your friend and I have appeared thrice before you now.” It held up a second finger. “‘If you seek this one, speak the truth.’ Not the most clear summons, but as I did seek you, I will bind myself to speak the truth to you. You owe this one a third command. If I agree to your terms and you agree to this one’s, then I will serve you, Jason, as I have others in need.”

Jason drew in a strangled breath as he realized two things. First, the longer the clarity of the demon's speech and the depth of his vocabulary increased the longer it spoke. Second, and most important of all, Jason was summoning a demon, _had summoned_ a demon that wanted him to complete the ritual. All he needed was a third command and Jason would have a pact with a demon. That didn’t sound like it was too hard.

Looking into this demon boy’s eyes, Jason knew what he wanted. He didn’t even need to think about a third command. He didn’t even have to question himself. He wanted to do this. Even if he knew it was wrong.

“I want to be strong enough to protect myself and I can protect others from the King of Spirits.” Jason stared into his eyes and saw them glow with pleasure. “Help me find the power to do this. Help me protect Gotham City from the demon kings and others like them.”

“Strength, power, protection,” repeated the demon. "This is what you require."

Jason nodded, wanting nothing more.

“This is easily done. In exchange, you must feed this one so I can stay in the material world. I require knowledge to sate my curiosity, fruit of the earth to sate my hunger, and.” Its lips twisted into a deeper smile. “A kiss to sate my appetite.”

Jason’s nose wrinkled. “A kiss? Seriously?”

“It is my nature to desire, so I ask for a mere kiss whenever I am in need,” it added. “I offer you generosity when none before has offered such to this one.”

Untangling that one’s speech was difficult, but Jason understood the gist of it. He was getting the better end of the deal. Still, he really didn’t want to go around swapping spit with a demon.

“Can it be on the cheek?”

The demon laughed once more, wrapping long arms around its waist as if to hold the sound. It seemed so, so normal, no real and human. “Aye, this one will accept your chaste request by demanding no more than what you are willing to give.”

“How often are we talking? Once a month? I can do once a month.”

“This one seeks to bargain now?” The demon laughed again, and Jason wondered why he thought the strange demon boy had ever been something to fear. “No more than twice a seven day. Will this appease you?”

After considering the enormity of their bargain, Jason decides that it doesn't seem like a bad deal. “That sounds fair,” said Jason.

“Good,” he said. “Now you must say it together. Your terms, then my terms.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jason took a step closer to the circle. He rubbed his hands against his jeans to remove the sweat. “Bet you’ve never had to walk someone through this before.”

“This one is young but strong. Show no fear and together, we will shake the earth.” The words were oddly reassuring.

Show no fear. He could do that. Shoulders back, chin tilted up, Jason stared into the demon’s eyes. His stomach tightened and his heart began to pound, but he wasn’t afraid. Somehow he knew exactly what to say.

Jason clapped his hands together. "If you are friend, appear before me. If you seek me, speak the truth. If you have power, share it with so I can protect this city and the people who live here from the evil of the King of Spirits and others like him. In exchange, I will give you knowledge to help your curiosity, fruit of the earth and food to help your hunger, and a kiss,” Jason stuttered over the word. “To help your appetite, on the cheek.”

“This one will share power to this child, give him strength and protect him from the scions of the Demon Lord.” The circle exploded with light as the demon spoke and the scent of freshly turned earth and new rains swept into the room. A flutter of air washed through the corner of the room rustling the loose papers on the table, sending the heavy door slamming shut, but Jason couldn’t look away from the terrible light in the demon’s eyes and the wicked curl that played upon his lips.

Jason licked his mouth. “We have a deal. Is that it?”

The demon smiled his sharp, white smile. “We have agreed to the terms. Now we must exchange names.”

“Right,” Jason said. “The exchange of names is what seals the bound.”

There were rules about this very thing—summoning, accounts, and pacts. The name of an astral being, be they spirit or demon, was the essence of their power. To hear it once was to be filled with the metaphorical heart of that power. Practitioners regarded it to be dangerous and at the same time, necessary for a true binding. Exorcists regarded the names as necessary, for the power necessary to banish an astral being resided in its name. And here stood Jason ready to complete his first summoning and hear a demon’s name as if he were the real deal. He straightened to his full height and raised his hand.

“My name is Jason Peter Todd,” he said, voice hushed.

“This one is....” The demon's voice faded away yet its soft mouth kept moving, shaping something. A word. Jason frowned, unable to hear it. He leaned closer staring at the shape of its lips opening and closing and he could almost. Almost. He took another step at the hint of a voice murmuring just beyond him and the tip of his shoe crossed touched the edge of his circle. Almost.

 _There._  

The weight of being crash over him, an endless onslaught of everything this thing had been. It came to him in the sound of a laughing boy. Old, so much older than he could have ever imagined, but there was something familiar, something he had heard before. he remembered, followed by the voice a girl, calling, calling, _Rikar_ …. _this one is a name that sings with one hundred voices, the caress of a Spring moon’s waxing light, of a twisted tongue that dies, is dying across the land so that few can utter the dreaded words, and fewer still could understand. This one’s name was power and there was power in his name, heard in the cry of the sweetest agony, the tasted in victory against insurmountable odds, felt when new skin pressed against skin, danced in the ancient rhythm beaten, in the tattoo of flesh, the taste of green, sweat, water running after the winter is gone, the bend and stretch of trees unfurling. This one is endless and this one will be in the material world with this one who is Jason Peter Todd, longs to share, learn, play, devour_.

Jason’s vision filled with white light, then there was nothing.


	5. A House Is Not A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason returns to the night he first met the Dark Knight. But it's not quite how he remembered. What's this? Damian doesn't react well to the family's latest addition?
> 
> A hero's journey has to start somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos, comments, and your patience! I really hope you enjoy this update. A few things before you get into the story!
> 
> 1\. Please be aware of the tags. This chapter features violence and abuse against Jason, a minor. 
> 
> 2\. Read [Never Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5591197) if you're wondering how flashback!Jason got to dreamback!Jason's point chronologically.

**i.**

The children were kept in a subbasement below Panopolis, a high-rolling night club owned by the Black Mask demons, a faction that claimed allegiance to none yet favored by a particular demon king. Suited, armed, and masked with a clinging tar-like ooze that molded their faces into something grotesquely human, the Black Mask demons walked the tiny lanes separating their harvest. Jason quickly learned they were not something to bargain with, speak to, run from, or gaze at. Their blank eyes saw everything and they knew only cruelty.

The scent of their magic, depraved and unclean, lingered in the air clogging the senses with blood and ash. That same scent buzzed along the ground where the children sat in their neat rows separated by splattered circles rather than wire or bars. They resembled summoning circles, something Jason should not know but somehow did. He and the other children were bound within those lines, trapped by words of power that stung at the skin and clouded the mind with a hunger so present, Jason confused it for his own. Sleep, however unrestful, was the only escape from these sensations, and Jason slept as long as he was able. 

Jason was never one for wishes or prayer, but the desire for rescue died on the third day when they broke his arm. Or perhaps it happened on the fourth when the demon guards conjured a sound into his chest that made his bones rattle and his nose bleed. There was no one to come claim him after all, no one in the world who knew that Willis gambled away his own flesh and blood. No one in the world who cared that Jason's soul in a game of cards. 

A small part of him wondered about the other kids and if they had anyone searching for them. If their faces flashed during an emergency broadcast, if anyone cared to know. But that part shrank over time. His curiosity, his empathy, his will dwindled to nothing and pain rushed to take its place. He never learned the other children's names or even heard their voices. He only watched with anxious eyes as they disappeared from their cells one by one.

On the eighth day, Jason woke dry mouthed and nauseous, skin crawling. The demons were coming. They appeared at random hours melting into the light like nightmares, yet Jason always knew when they were about to visit. His body trembled with sickening remembrance of them. He pulled his body away from the glowing lines and sat at the circle’s center to wait. 

A familiar, overwhelming fear dried his throat, slickened his palms when the demons oozed from the walls to fan down the rows like an honor guard. They clutched heavy guns in their gloved hands. It occurred to Jason then that he had witnessed this moment before. This room. Those faces. He’d been here before. He knew what came next.

Jason turned his head to watch upwards. Moments later, the heavy freight elevator clattered down the wall.

The elevator door opened, sending a shaft of light to illuminate the horrors etched into the floor. And in that light was Black Mask and a guest, floating down the steps with ease. 

Decked in all black from mask to the soft shine of his leather shoes, Black Mask’s was the shadowy form that stalked Jason's nightmares. He hunted Jason through he twisted alleys of Park Row, teeth sharp and tongue lashing. Yet for all the creeping terror that radiated from him, the demon that accompanied Black Mask was more sinister and more grand. The power within its human form flared through the expansive room like a dry, hot wind. It was called the King of Spirits, the demon king who walked with two faces, although Jason could not remember how he knew or why. 

The demon king dwarfed those standing behind it both in size and presence. The closer it came, the more human it looked. Masculine, handsome even, the demon wore a handsome human face as easily as it wore the its white tuxedo jacket over a satiny black shirt and pants. He had a sharp nose, pointed chin, and bronzed skin. It graced the misery-darkened room a smile out of a toothpaste commercial. But the closer Jason looked, the more of its other worldly nature he observed. A faint green light shone from beneath the skin, a crosshatch of scales wrapped around the demon’s right hand and disappeared beneath the shirtsleeve. Bone white horns curled down at the temple, and an odd white tuft of hair growing above its right eye. When the demon turned its head to the side, Jason could almost see a hazy afterimage wavering after the motion. It resembled a second face burning hotly just above the demon's human face. Its eyes were yellow and twinkled as they caught Jason watching. 

The specter climbed up from the demon king’s shoulder, a third hand coming to cup its pointed ear. It placed its bloody lips to the demon king's ear to whisper a secret. After pulling away, it glanced back at Jason. A fiery grin spread across its mouth. Blood dripped onto the stark white lapels of its coat. 

The demon king’s voice carried across the room. “Stock’s looking kind of thin here, Sionis. Far below your usual standards.”

“There’s been an uptick in Knight activity this side of town,” said Black Mask, wearing an ingratiating grin. “But let me assure you, we have exactly what you were looking for, Mr. Dent.”

Mr. Dent smiled again. It was not a nice smile. “What we paid you for.”

“Of course. But what kind of business man would I be if I didn’t at least show you the potential my boys have discovered.” Black Mask waved his hand at the remaining boys and girls trapped in their tiny spaces. 

Only six children remained when the King of Spirits came to the basement. Could they see the demons approach them? Could they hear their voices as they walked between the rows dissecting their appearance, their eligibility, the suppleness of their forms like farmers comparing livestock or a chefs comparing prized ingredients? Jason didn’t know how to tell the others they had no cause to fear today. He was the one who would be chosen. He knew that with certainty. 

At last they approached Jason’s row. Their footsteps whispered across the floor filling his ears with a soft shushing sound. Jason did not have the strength to move his head. He could only lay on his side and wait. This close he could only focus on their feet, the shine on the expensive leather. The strings tied. The whisper of their suits falling neatly after each dragging step.

Mr. Dent pointed at Jason and he felt the weight of the demon’s attention. It scoured the stone floor and burned his cheeks. The demon didn’t seem to mind that Jason did not move from where he slumped amidst the buzzing wash that trapped him. 

He didn’t want to remember this. He didn’t want to see this.

“This is the son of the man who stole from me?” asked Mr. Dent.

“Bound but unbroken, Mr. Dent. Exactly as you asked.”

“But this one is young!” exclaimed the demon king.

Black Masked bowed low. “Forever we will stand in awe at your keen eyes, oh King of Spirits,” said the demon before rising. “You are correct. He is young. I think you’ll find that the young ones are only somewhat less resilient in body. But they more than make up for it in the malleability of mind. This is how he escaped your domain and lived.”

“Let me take a closer look at this human boy.”

“Of course.” Black Mask snapped his fingers and the light within the circle winked out. Suddenly, Jason felt he could breathe clearly, but there was no time for him to enjoy the slight reprieve. He had to move. He fought against the pins and needles coursing through his body and scrambled away from danger. His limbs felt sluggish, heavy, refusing to obey.

“Remind me of this stock's freshness?”

“They’ve been curing for nearly ten days.”

Both of the demons’ faces stretched into a grin. “And this one can still move? How delightful.” The Spirit King pushed through the final wards. They parted before him like beaded rope. “Come here. I want to take a look at you.”

Jason struggled. He tried to roll, fight, push, but when the demon moved its hand, Jason found himself pinned to the floor spread like a butterfly on a board. His fingers twitched, his eyes blinked, his heart beat, his blood moved, but the rest of Jason remained stock still. The demon touched him, a gentle brush of its hand down Jason’s cheek, and his stomach cramped. His skin broke into a cold sweat.

“There is so much strength within him. Look, Sionis. He has survived my touch.” The demon king stroked Jason's other cheek. "And look. Another."

“It is true," Sionis agreed. "The boy is still very much alive.”

"It’s a shame that I cannot see the fortunes of his soul, but it is reasonably pleasing to the eye," said Mr. Dent, pushing Jason’s face from side to side considering it from several angles. “And strong. I will take this one and make it my vessel.”

“Splendid. If it’s your will, let us return to my office to sign the appropriate paperwork in exchange for the final payment.”

Mr. Dent raised an amused brow. “Must it always be business, Sionis?”

“I am a businessman first, demon second,” said Black Mask, sketching another tight bow. “And I am sure a lawyer such as yourself would want to review these contracts a second time.”

“Under normal circumstances I would agree. But this one, this current vessel. It craves the pleasure of my control so.” Mr. Dent touched a thumb to his own lips, down his chest, spread the glowing hand across his crotch and groped crudely. A red flush crept over his cheeks and his mouth watered, puddling drool at the corner of his lips. “Yes. So much of our time together has been perfect for this one. So freeing, to give oneself to power, to let go and let fate guide me. We have done such good for the city and have orchestrated chaos that will scorch it to its very bones.” The human moaned and the demon within lapped at his lips with a blackened tongue. “But in its deepest heart, it fights me. It calls for someone to save it.”

“How terrible,” Black Mask says drolly, immune to the display.

Sighing, Mr. Dent released himself. “This one’s time will soon be over. I must prepare a new vessel immediately. One who only knows the strength of my will and the taste of my power. I believe the answer lies in youth after all.” It stops stroking itself. The demonic afterimage laughed silently as the human body shivered from loss. "Yes. This one will do nicely." He turned back to Jason’s limp body. “Be joyous, my son, for you have pleased your king.” 

“And after you prepare?” Black Mask pressed.

“Yes, yes. We’ll go to your office and celebrate. Sign papers.” It waved the other demon off. “Get everything ready for me.”

“If it is your will.” Black Masked snapped his fingers. As one, the honor guards turned to face him. “Collect the rest of our stock. We’re taking them to the market." 

The overhead lights winked out leaving Jason alone with the demon king. He didn’t want to remember what happened next. He didn’t want to experience it again, but Jason could no more stop the events from unfolding now then he could then.

Mr. Dent caught his jaw. “Open your mouth.”

Jason flopped weakly trying to escape the searing touch.

“You have so much to learn, but do not fear. I will teach you. Let this be your first lesson.” The Spirit King slapped him. Pain rocked through Jason’s thin frame harder. His ears rang. His eyes burned, glazing the room with a wet, shiny film. His heart beat against the cage of his ribs. Jason breathed through it, wits steady, eyes dry. This was a lesson he'd long ago learned.

“Such strength of will.” The demon’s right eye flared a sickly green color. “You will be a wonderful vessel.”

The demon dug thick fingers past Jason's teeth hooking molars to pry his mouth open. When Jason's mouth was parted wide, spit drying on his tongue, the demon began to whisper strange, archane that fell from its mouth in twirling glyphs and green mists. They twined and parted around Jason’s body slithering over his skin and between his lips. A thick, tang filled Jason's throat, oozed like tar behind his lungs. Jason's choked on the spell, unable to scream. He shuddered and jerked trying to pull free but he could not. It slid deep inside of Jason’s body, filling him, burning him from the inside out.

Two voices began to speak, one smooth and cool, the other a gravely break of sound. Jason could understand them. He wished he could not. “I will make you a vessel,” they said. “In this moment, I anoint you and mark you as my own. When it is time, I will devour you and ascend to greater power. Until I come to claim my vessel, you'll have to hold this for me.” As they spoke, the two figures lifted their right hand. The scaled hands burned and the nail of his longest finger began to grow.The demons turned the hand to one side, brandishing the lengthened nail like a blade. Their mouths moved again, more glyphs, more mist, more pain, yet nothing compared to the moment when the King of Spirits shoved the nail into Jason's body. It split through Jason's skin, the cresent shape glowed hotter than the fiery magics wrapped around him. It burned, melting his flesh and muscle, scraping beneath his rib cage until it came to rest beside Jason's heart. He could feel it there, a cold fire moon pulsing inside him.

Jason stared at Mr. Dent and his demon while the power flowed through him. Tears slid down his dirty cheeks. He did not want to be alone and weak and afraid. He did not want to be a vessel. He did not want to die. The demon broke of the nail. Blood welled from the wound. The flesh began to knit back together.

 _Help me._ Jason cried in the silence of his mind. _Someone please, please help me. I will give anything just don-_  

An echoing boom shook through the basement. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Another boom came from above and the second freight elevator crashed to the ground, exploding in a shower of sparks. Suddenly, Jason and the King of Spirits were no longer trapped in the horrifying tableau.

The Dark Knight had arrived.

Black Mask demons washed into the room from the shadows, guns raised. Jason remembered this too. If he could just hold on, he might be saved. He wants so desperately to be saved, to make it out of here alive. He needed to fight. He had to fight. Jason did the only thing within his power at that moment. He drew a deep breath and bit down on the fingers in his mouth, chewing until the demon king cried out in pain.

“What the hell!” Mr. Dent howled, slapping about Jason’s head. An oily, burning sensation filled his mouth. The blood of the demon king. It spilled from his lips and down his throat twining the demon’s power with the blood and coating his chest with a molten heat that burned. Teeth grit, body shaking, Jason screamed. But he did not let go.

At the east side of the building, the ceiling crumpled. A lone figure landed lightly, black cloak swirling around it like mist. The Dark Knight. 

Mr. Dent snarled, throwing Jason to the ground. “When will you realize that this vessel belongs to me?” 

The Dark Knight stalked forward. “Harvey, you call for a friend to help you,” he said, gravely voice compelling. “I am here. Fight him.”

“He cannot fight against what he has become," said Mr. Dent. "He has become a perfect vessel for me and this city.”

“Fight him!” The Dark Knight shouted, spinning beneath a bullet spray. White light burst from his palm melting the demons in front of him.

“The things you’ve done, the secrets you know, the lives you’ve tasted. You can never go back. You cannot fight me. You and I are one.” Sprawled on the floor, Jason saw the split between the demon and its human host. The glowing, green specter seemed almost separate of Mr. Dent, standing equally tall just behind him with its own two legs, torso, and arm. Their movements echoed each other. “Show this failed relic what you have so freely chosen.”

Its hand became engulfed in the same sickly green glow. Faint came the sound of a coin flipping end over end. The demon threw a pulse of energy, but his host hesitated and the spell spun crazily, crashing into the wall.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Harvey?” Mr. Dent screamed. He flung his hand in the air spilling its oily blood on the ground. “Stand between me and the Dark Knight. Do not let the city's champion interrupt me again.”

The substance fizzled and popped, bubbling into the twisted forms of demons, gray-skinned and horned. Some joined the fray. The others surrounded their king, leaping and snapping in a fouled frenzy. Mr. Dent turned back to Jason. A greasy aura surrounded him and his shadow stretched beneath Jason, trapping him once again. Within his hands grew new magic that tingled through Jason’s limbs, stinging his bloodied lips.

Both faces smiled. “This might sting a bit.” 

The spell flew toward Jason, tearing the air with a whip crack. He scrambled to protect himself, arms over his head, make himself smaller, and forced himself to breathe—you have to breathe through the pain. He trembled. Some distant part of him remembered the white heat that seared across his skin, the crushing chains that had enveloped him, the smell of piss filling the air as he was burned with power yet that moment did not come.

“This is the one you fear.”

Jason glanced through between his fingers. A young man stood next to him clutching the two-faced demon's spell in the palm of one hand. The glowing light bathed him in shadows and secrets. The fight continued just beyond him, but the figures moved at half speed. Magical energies popped in slow motion.

It didn’t happen this way. Jason surveyed the scene from a distance as if he were no longer part of the chaos. The Dark Knight had swooped to Jason’s side and swung his heavy cape up just as a hoard of spells shattered around them like glass. This must be a dream.

“A demon king is worthy of fear,” the man said, coming to kneel beside him. “But do not be afraid. I will not let any harm come to you. You will never feel this fear again.”

Jason studied him, thinking the guy was a little too pretty to be real. The stranger's heavy hair brushed over to one side of his face shading brilliant eyes that burned with the same blue fires dancing across his chest. “Are you a demon?” he asked.

HIs expression changed then, becoming amused, playful. “Perhaps," he said airily. "Or perhaps not."

“Do I know you?”

“Yes. You know I am here to protect you.” He closed his palm and the spell collapsed leaving behind the flutter of leaves and feathers and the scent of new rain.

Jason reached out to touch him then. The tips of his fingers met with soft, warm skin. Perhaps this was real.

The demon’s grin faded. “When you touch me, I remember.

"What do you remember?" Jason asked, curious.

"Things long forgotten. I yearn. I hunger. I feel. Do not stop," he begged when Jason's fingers stilled. "It is a pain that I relish.”

“It hurts?” Jason trailed his palm down curving bone along his shoulder ready to let go again.

“No,” said the demon after a pause. “No it does not hurt. I think perhaps I was once alive and this form yearns for that feeling. Is it not in you to be free?”

Freedom. After these long days trapped, Jason had forgotten the word and what it meant. It returned to him then, the many ideas of the freedom he lost. Running across a patch of grass, taking the subway alone for the first time, staring across the city from the top of the Titanium Tower and seeing every point of light shine, begin safe from harm, a promise to protect others so they never need know what it’s like to lose it. To face demons and be afraid.

“Can we be free together?" Jason asked. “You just saved me. I won’t let anyone hurt you either.”

“Yes, Jason. Yes,” the demon crooned.

Jason’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “You know my name?”

“Jason Peter Todd,” he said, voice full of care.

Jason gasped. “You do know my name? How?”

He laughed and it sounded sweetly soothing. “We have been properly introduced. I know your name and you know mine. But I wonder, which did you hear? Jason, you must call me by my name.

Jason closed his eyes and fought to remember everything that happened before this dream. He could see it faintly; the laboratory and the practice circle filling with smoke. Whispers coming from the dark and the way this demon stared at him, the flare of his eyes when the laughter began. The soft motion of the demon’s mouth when he spoke his name.

“The Gray Son.”

“Yes,” said the Gray Son, voice rising in a vicious shriek. His hair became shorn, his skin pale, and his eyes glowed. “I sat on the wrist of kings. I hunted for them.”

“Nightwing,” Jason whispered and watched transfixed as the demon’s face change becoming less harsh, familiar even A wild grin parted his lips. A black mask covered his eyes.

“Yes,” said the Nightwing. “I walked along the edge where night shadows meet dawn’s light and bled justice from man’s bones.”

There was more, Jason was sure of it. He felt along the sharp jut of the demon’s chest. The hazy blue fire tingled and pulsed beneath his palm beating like a heart. He could hear it there, another name. “Your name is also. Rikardu.” He stumbled over the name that was familiar but also unlike any he’d heard before. “I heard a voice saying that name. She called you.”

The demon nodded, face shifting back to the young man Jason first saw. This was Rikardu and he was beautiful, like a statue carved to capture beauty for all time. His skin was dark, smooth polished bronze. His hair returned, heavy and shining, and his face twisted in sorrow. “Yes. I was this one as well and traveled long, dusty roads at the heart of the world to perform for both kings and the people. There was no smile that I could not coax, no pleasure that this one could not give.” The pride that began to curl over his lips faded. “But you fear this one. I must limit myself. A pity. You are so fascinating," he whispered, sadness in passing over like a cloud.

“And you called yourself something else. Or maybe she did. Robin.” Jason looked at him, surprised. “I heard you sing.” 

Robin smiled and Jason gasped again recognizing this face. It was the demon boy The demon boy who followed Jason from the void. “Robin, for once I was a bird who flew the skies. I was so small. I sang for a goddess when this world was barely known. She cherished my song.” His eyes opened locking Jason into a terrible stare. “Which name will you call me?” 

“Which one do you like?”

The strange boy smiled, but it did not fit this face. “That is not for me to decide. Each aspect of this one will grant you immeasurable power. But you must choose, Jason.”

Jason trembled, feeling something new well within him. To name a demon, to pick its one from many seemed wrong. He had so many questions. What power came with the aspect? What would happen to the others if he choose? Would he hate Jason if he picked the wrong one? He wouldn’t want that at all. 

Jason nervously licked his lips and said, “All of them. I choose all of them. All of you.” 

Robin shook his head and his face changed, becoming everything at once; handsome and young, bitter and bloodied, soft and inviting. “Can you understand the terror that waits inside of me? No, I must be divided.”

Jason glanced around at the frozen tableau of his memories. The demon king’s awful spittle-flecked, sneer, the Dark Knight’s mask torn at the side, the blood of one-hundred demons wetting the floor. And beyond them lay the broken body of child who had been trapped like Jason.

“I wanted to help them, but I couldn’t. I tried but they." Jason closed his eyes. Bruce had only managed to save one that night. "They beat me worse than I ever had, and I couldn’t do anything about it. You understand me? It hurt so bad that I stopped trying. Couldn’t help myself let alone the other kids. I will take everything you offer me if you can promise that I’ll never feel like that again. That I’ll be able to save the people who can’t save themselves.

“And you. It’d be wrong to choose just one part of you. We’re all made up of good and bad experiences, but they do not define us. It’s our choices and the way we react to them that do. At least, that’s what Bruce said. He’s right about this kind of shit and I believe him.” Jason shrugged, embarrassed. “So, I don’t care. We’re on the same team now. We’re going to do good. We’re going to save this city. Maybe even the world.” 

The demon's beautiful blue eyes lit from within, sun shining through stained glass, and he smiled. Touching the wound bleeding down Jason's chest, he asked, “Who am I? Who will I be?” 

“All things,” said Jason knowing the answer to be true. “Whoever you will be is good ‘cause you’re mine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  

The world reasserted itself in a sickening rush of colors and bells ringing in his ear and beneath those bells sounded brash laughter, the fading image of a boy clothed in leather and bells, leaping out into nothing and— 

“Jason!” 

His body jerked and Jason gasped, cold air rushing into his mouth and lungs.  His hand was clasped tightly in Bruce’s hands. He’d recognize them anywhere—surety and steadiness like his are hard to fake. He turned his eyes from the ceiling found Bruce sitting on the floor beside the bed. A wet film covering Jason’s eyes. His head swam, but Jason could make out grim relief from the set of Bruce’s jaw and the way his eyes narrowed.

Jason opened his mouth several times before he could rasp out, “Sorry. What happened?”

“There was a breach in the practice laboratory.” Bruce moved to untwist the covers trapping Jason. That was better. He could breathe again.

Jason waved his hand back and forth clearing the thick fog swirling in front of his face. “Hurts.”

“Alfred found you collapsed in the middle of a burnt summons circle.” Bruce touched his shoulder again. It should have been calming but it wasn’t. “Can you tell me what happened? What do you remember?”

“I was dreaming about. About. I dreamed about when you came to rescue us. When you saved me. Only this time. It was different.” He frowned down at his hands that opened and closed, desperately trying to grasp the tail end of his dream. “You didn’t save me.”

“You dreamed about Black Mask?”

“Yes. And the demon with two faces. The Spirit King.” Jason looked down at his hands. His palms were warm, his skin hot, as if he had basked in the sun. Power. He had power flowing through him. “I didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Why not?” Bruce’s voice came from far away, from a place beyond Jason’s clouded thoughts. He stared at the thin lines lacing his fingers, over his knuckles and shivered.

“Because he told me I didn’t have to be.”

“Who did?”

Jason began searching the room. “He didn’t go did it? Is he here?”

Bruce shifted his gaze from Jason’s pale face to the survey the room. “Is who still here?” he growled.

Alfred pushed through the door with a tea tray in hand. He set the silver edge down on the bedside table and begins to pour.

“Would you care for milk, Master Jason?”

“Is who still here, Jason?” Bruce repeated pushing up from his seat.

Jason’s guilty eyes flew to Alfred then back to Bruce. “I. Bruce. I fucked up.”

Laughter sounded in the chamber echoing like bells of the morning.

“Alfred!”

“Of course, sir.” Alfred stepped forward and waved his hand in a great loop. Seven golden signs appeared in the air each encircled by leaping flames. They swept out in a heated blaze. Four settled against the room’s walls, one on the ceiling and the other on the floor. The last hung in the center of the room. They moved in concert sweeping across the room while the center circle whirled lazily. Alfred turned slowly searching the room with the same dedication of his spell. “We have a visitor,” he said. “Right. Here.”

With a flash of his hand, Alfred grabbed the air. On closer inspection, even Jason’s burning eyes could make out the faint shimmer. Alfred pushed the shimmer towards the center of the room. A thick, blue smoke began to unfurl.

Jason started pushing the blankets away. “That’s not gonna hurt him is it?”

“Hurt who?” Bruce asked, voice icy.

“My. I. Shit.” Jason rubbed his hands together with a tiny groan. There’s nothing he can say except for the truth. “I summoned a demon, Bruce. And I made a pact with it. That’s him.” Even though it was rude, Jason pointed at the smoke billowing within the gold rings.

The inky darkness fused into the demon’s form. He stood as a boy, Robin, in the middle of Alfred’s spell, teeth bared and hissing.

“You have every right to be pissed. You can do whatever, Bruce, and I’ll understand. I’ll take it. But you have to know I didn’t do it on purpose. Call him here that is. Not that I'm making excuses for what happened after.” He took a deep breath then met Bruce’s steely gaze. “I knew that making a pact was wrong but I did it anyway.”

The ringing silence was finally broken by Alfred’s implacable tones.

“I believe this might call for something stronger than tea.”

Starting with the disastrous attempt at summing elements in Mr. Nelson’s classroom, Jason recounted the story that led to the demon bound in gold chains floating in the center of his bedroom. Bruce and Alfred were attentive listeners who didn’t mind Jason stumbling to answer his questions and encouraged him through the parts that were still tender inside him. Despite the relative ease of the conversation, Jason found his attention wandering back to his demon. He flushed, embarrassed to think of someone as powerful and strange and significant as his. Jason had said those words in that dream they shared, and his demon didn’t mind.

 _The Gray Son. Rikardu. Nightwing. Robin._ He spoke like he had spent lifetimes within those names. Each one had become a different person with voices and mannerisms. Even his face had changed in the short time. He resembled Robin the most right now, the demon boy who burst from a veil of smoke and offering protection. Robin rocked on his toes while following the conversation. Delicate gold chains wrapped around his wrists and feet—physical manifestations of Alfred’s spells to limit the demon’s powers and preventing escape. Robin remained silent no matter how often Jason tried to invite him to speak on his own behalf.

“And then you exchanged the terms of your pact?” Bruce prompted.

Jason tore his gaze away from the demon. He had a question to answer, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. “Say that again, Bruce? I uh. I must have missed it.”

“The terms of your pact.”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. I asked to be able to protect the people in this city. The strength to fight as an exorcist like you. And in return, Robin wants food. Knowledge and fruit and….uh.” Jason paused remembering the hungers described to him. He didn’t want Bruce thinking he’s some kind of pervert making a deal with a demon that consumed kisses as part of a balanced breakfast.

Bruce’s eyebrows raised. “That’s it.”

“Basically, yeah,” Jason said, hoping Bruce wouldn’t press for more. “I already thought of how to do it too. Feed him. Maybe taking him to the library and the museums. And the Gotham market is every week. You don’t think he’d be allergic to anything there would he?”

“No. I don’t think Robin would be,” said Bruce, exchanging a glance with Alfred. Those glances could mean anything from “Jason needs underthings” to “Jason just mastered a water divination spell.” He used to resent it thinking it was just another way to put Jason in his place. Over time, he came to realize that Bruce and Alfred were family in that way, communicating without words and always translated for him afterwards. “There are several fruit trees in the south garden. Perhaps you’ll find a favorite.”

It sounded like a good idea.

“Do you have a favorite fruit?” he asked. Robin blinked, long lashes swept up and down in a confused wave. Jason stared amazed at how Robin reacted just like any kid would, like a human boy. It’s so at odds with the sharp black nails on his fingers and that blue fire streaking across his chest.

Bruce cleared his throat. “So you exchanged names next and then you dreamed?”

“Yeah. I guess. It was like when I first started staying here.” When Jason first moved into the manor he would wake to the sound of his own shattered voice screaming into the night. The dreams were endless, coaxing to Jason open his eyes, thankful for escape, only to find himself at the King of Spirit’s feet, choking on an endless wave of magic. When he finally woke, Jason had existed in a between state being both overly aware of his surroundings and just outside of his body, floating in a terrible haze where he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t stand the silence creeping in to him.

Until one night he woke up with Bruce’s hand in his.

Jason owed the man so much, not only for saving him but also giving him a place to stay. Hell, Bruce invited him into the family. And look at how he repaid that kindness.

Jason looked at Bruce with burning eyes. “I brought a demon into your house. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” said Bruce, and because the guy was awesome, he added, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Bruce,” he said, voice cracking, recriminations falling from his mouth. “I am. I’m okay. I’m really sorry. I know. I know I said that when I moved in here, you wouldn’t have to worry about me. I wasn’t lying. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s not the first time a mistake like that has happened here. I’m saying that not to make light of your apology, but so that you understand why I accept it. Jason.”

“What?” Jason shook his head in an attempt to knock the last bit of fuzz from his head. He had to be missing something.

“I accept your apology,” said Bruce.

“But a demon? In your house? You’re not gonna even yell at me? No wait. You should yell at me. I might feel a little better if you do,” he muttered.

“There will be consequences. And we’re going to have a serious discussion about house rules and your personal safety and well-being,” Bruce said. “Not necessarily in the form of punishment from me. Although, Jason, whatever your Robin is, he’s not a demon. Or at least, not quite one. Not yet.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“I have it on very good authority that all demons of the higher order have horns. There’s a suspicious lack in our new friend.”

“Really?” Jason’s gaze swung back to Robin.  He studied the smooth lines of his forehead and the heavy strands of hair but there were no protrusions.

“Yes, really. Alfred’s spell divined intent. As far as I can tell at this time, your Robin does not mean you any harm. We’ll have to discover whatever we can before deciding what to do next.”

“Are you sure? Because he said—“

A deep shuddering groan interrupted him. It rumbled through the walls, shaking the fixtures and toppling a few books from the shelves.

“It appears that Master Damian is awake,” Alfred said, righting a painting beside him.

Bruce sighed heavily. There were already so many things on his plate as a billionaire CEO who protected the city at night. Being a father to two rebellious boys with supernatural needs didn't help. “I will break the news to him. Jason, we will continue this conversation in the morning.”

“Yes sir,” Jason said and watched Bruce and Alfred preparing to leave one problem child for another. He’d almost got out of it. There was just one more thing he had to know.

“Hey, Bruce?” Jason’s hesitant call stopped his exit. “Are we still going to the game?”

Bruce’s stern glare fell into that smile he only use at home. The slight curve of his eyes and the tick in his lips that revealed he found humor in that request. “I will consider it.”

Alfred followed him out the door after promising to return with a light snack.

The door shut with a quiet click leaving Jason alone with his demon. His teammate.

Once the footsteps disappeared around the corner, Robin stood on both feet and pushed off from the ground. He flew across the room in a wave of air that sent Jason’s sheets and hair fluttering. He halted his descent above the bed on one foot, spinning down to sit midair with his legs crossed beneath him.

“Whoa!”

“A pleased patron will clap for a performance,” said Robin, and Jason clapped his hands together. Robin twirled his fingers above his head and bowed at the waist.

“How did you do that?”

“I am what I am,” was the reply. “And the power in my blood shapes that which is within me." 

Now what was Jason supposed to do with that answer. He rolled his eyes expressively. “Do you only speak in riddles or do you just like confusing me?”

Robin laughed and once he started, he could not stop. The sound was airy. He fell to the side and kicked his heels. The chains jingled merrily. “It may be. It may be.”

“That doesn’t hurt you does it?”

Robin propped his head against one hand and looked down at the chains hanging from his body. A soft chime plays wherever he touched the delicate trappings. “No, it does not hurt. It is strange. These chains hold within them a very ancient magic. The one who wields it is very powerful, yet your Bruce is a champion who stands guard over this place.”

“Whoa, hey, no!” Jason pushed up from the pillows. “You can’t know that? How do you know that?”

“He bears the same mantle of duty as the one who saved you from the King of Spirit,” Robin said, simple facts. “I feel the strength of a gate here, distant and well hidden. The presence is only through you.”

Ah nuts. He’s only a few minutes—or even hours, what time is it?—into partnering with a not-demon, and Bruce’s secrets are already getting out. “It’s a secret, alright. You can’t go around saying. Not to anyone or anything. It’s important, alright?”

“Alright,” Robin repeated.

“You understand, right?”

“I do. But there is much more I would know.” Robin stretched above the bed and stared down with wide eyes. The color swirled lazily, almost hypnotic like watching water flow back and forth. Clamping down on the impulse to stare at back was difficult. Now that the audience was gone, Jason didn’t even try.

“Like what?”

“Through your eyes I saw how you came to be under a champion's care. I want to know why you still remain.”

“Look at this place!” Jason’s sweeping arm encompassed the size of the bed, the fact that it’s on a real frame, matching covers and a mound of pillows. The place didn’t just smell clean, it smelled like a real clean house, with food and a faint hint of lemon and flowers everywhere. But fresh lemons, like the ones cut up in his juice during meals. He got three square meals a day, plus snacks if he wanted, and Alfred didn’t mind if he helped out in the kitchen either. He had clothes. He had shoes. He had a laptop and a tablet and a phone. The pipes didn’t rattle when he turned on the water and the toilet always flushed. Air conditioning. He had people to talk to, people to ask him about his day. Bruce and Alfred were amazing, so good to him. So much so that he felt a little embarrassed by their care and how easy it was to simply let them.

“I’m not taking advantage. I know I don’t really deserve it, but life’s good here.” It couldn’t be wrong of him to want that? Surely he’d recognize the feeling if it were as similar to the wrong he’d just done.

“But surely you know that inside you lies a deep well? It grows larger now that I am beside you. You could have all this and more.” Robin’s fingers poked at his cheeks.

Jason grimaced and slapped them away. “No. And you’re starting to sound weird. We got to get you sounding a lot less biblical, man.”

“I am not a man. Perhaps I never was,” Robin said, a far off look in his eyes and Jason could only wonder where his thoughts went. 

There were things Jason would like to know too. His thoughts were awhirl with questions. He wondered where this demon came from, what it was before it fell into the void. He wondered what happened to the other parts of him. The facets. How did they come together and create this…whatever he was? And if Jason chose all the facets, why is he only Robin now? Jason's hand lifted to touch Robin's arm and the demon let him, head tilting just so. The skin felt the same as it did in his dream, soft, familiar, yet Jason could feel a light pulse there. It beat in time with that slight pulsing through the jagged cracks across Robin's chest, and he wondered if it was its heartbeat.

He had so many questions to ask, so many things he wanted to know, but there was time for that later, he hoped. To secure that time, there was something Jason had to do first.

 

* * *

 

The list of people Jason needed to apologize to was short. There were only three people and Bruce had already forgiven him. Alfred would never accept an apology from him. He’d tried several times in the past but Alfred had said an apology was meaningless without action and that his behavior after an infraction would be far more of a gift. So, Jason was covered on that front as well. Unfortunately, the last name on his mental list was Damian Wayne. Jason knew complicated and that boy was a broken radiator with no tools, no parts, and a deadline. 

Jason and Damian were a lot alike, brothers in kind if not blood. Both boys came from broken homes, nearly killed by their family for selfish, irrational reasons, and in Jason’s case, nearly possessed by unspeakable evil. Damian hadn’t been spared and still suffered the aftereffects.

The commonalities that brought Damian and Jason together also created an uneasy friction. Competition was their sole means of communication and acknowledgement, and they competed for everything, from breakfast requests to movie picks, to hour long arguments of what it takes to be the greatest Squire to the Dark Knight. As current Squire, Damian had a little of an edge on Jason, which was so annoying. Jason was getting pretty sick of Damian winning all the time.

But he liked the kid, who was both older than him and younger than him, more afraid of the world and a bit more messed up than him too. Damian deserved to hear an apology from Jason for bringing a demon, almost demon whatever. It didn’t matter. He brought it into the home of the Dark Knight, who protected the city and its people from evil and his son, the former head of a demon hunting clan. And he was going to ask Damian not to hurt his…. To hurt Robin.

After telling Robin to stay put—and then pushing him back through the door twice when he tried to follow, and then sitting him down in the kitchen and asking Alfred to please keep an eye out while he fulfilled his gentlemanly duty (Alfred impressed that importance on him too)—Jason explored half of the manor in an attempt to find Damian. He tried the meditation room, the garden, and the drawing room with no luck. Finally, he went to the training room. Damian was on the mats moving from one kata to the next with violently fluid motions. 

Talking to a pissed Damian had all the appeal of putting a stuck-up cat in water. But it had to be done. He waited for Damian to complete his final form and cool down before stepping forward, though.

“Hey, Damian. I needed to talk to you for a sec.”

Damian stowed away his practice sword and started wiping away the sweat beading across his body. “You may talk, but I do not hear the voice of defilers.”

It was on the tip on Jason’s tongue to ask what happened when Damian’s mom called, but he didn’t.

“You seem to hear me just fine with your head up your ass so….”

Damian rolled his eyes and bent down to retrieve his family sword from the rack. He walked away.

“Damian, wait!” He curled his fists together, relieved that Damian stops at the stairs. “Look. I know Bruce talked to you about what happened,” he said, speaking to Damian’s broad back. “But you deserve to know what happened. Something followed me in from the void. I guess I called to it. It’s not a demon, but I went about it wrong, and.” Whatever else he was thinking flowed away when Damian turned back. “I’m sorry.”

“You feel the need to come to me for forgiveness?” Damian snorted. “Pathetic.”

The cold steel in his voice stopped Jason short. “What?”

“You are pathetic.”

“Fuck you!” Jason shouted. “I’m trying to be honest about everything that what went down so you don’t try and cleanse him.”

“There it is. You endanger us all without thought and now you want me to legitimize your selfish whims.”

“I don’t want you to go after Robin. He’s okay, man. He’s going to be.” He’s cut off by Damian’s harsh laugh.

“Father spoke of your summoned _creature_.” Damian spat the word. “And I will tell you what I said to him. The demon will be the death of humanity for their nature is to devour,” he intoned. “Their will is to devour. The demon will drink from the soul and eat from the heart and never be full. It will be the death of you. And do you know what my father said?“

Jason licked his lips. “What?”

“He said that we are to guide you in this and ensure your safety? You who brought madness into our home!” Damian raised his sword lengthwise. The blood-red scabbard was etched with the tales of demons. The pommel glimmered in his hands. “He coddles you. But I will not let your weakness and your failures define my father’s end. He must secure his legacy.”

“But I—“

“And so, I shall teach you. You will find me a more than adequate instructor.” Damian’s fore and middle fingers curved through the air releasing the sword’s seal. The scabbard fluttered away in a shower of sparks leaving behind a glowing blade and the sound of rain. _Mutadaffaq_ , the sword of drowning despair. Damian called it his heritage and it was always within reach if not in his hands, hidden within a seamless pocket of space. And perhaps it wasn’t the sound of rain but the rumbling of pebbles in a hollow gourd, a tumbling rush of rage that echoed with each step Damian took.

Jason would not back down on this. His chest ached responding to the threat of magic. Sick and twisted as it was, he had a new inflicted heritage of his own that rested deep like a still well. Red flame sputtered in the palm of his hand. “There isn’t a thing in this world that you can teach me, Damian!”

“Respect. Discipline. Fear. I will grind them into your bones, Todd.” Damian sprang forward, sword slashing in a wide arc.

Blood splattered to the ground.

“And you will do well to remember this lesson.”


	6. The Garden of Children's Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Damian’s pride finally collide in the long-promised fight. But what’s this? Laughter in the darkness. 
> 
> A hero’s journey has to start somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have an update! And you know what that means, tweaks to previous chapters! This is a quick warning that if you come across something an idea or referenced scene in chapter that is unfamiliar, it's not you. It's me fleshing out some story ideas.
> 
> 08.17 - Very loosely referenced abuse added to his chapter. Please review the warnings above. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who leaves a comment or a kudo. I appreciate it. And an extra special thank you for anyone who has come back to read the next part! I hope you're enjoying the ride.

**i.**

Jason met Damian’s resolute glare with a wicked, bloody-lined smile. “You’re going to regret that,” he said, boldly.

“I highly doubt it,” Damian scoffed. His sword curved through the air, taunting. "But be prepared, Todd, for I will not be easy on you."

In the scant weeks after coming to Wayne Manor, Jason learned four important things about Damian Wayne. He had complex family drama; he had severe health issues; he hated demons; and he fought to win. Jason should have remembered that last one before taking Damian on. They’d sparred a few times in the name of self-defense, and Jason had always limped away pride bruised but unbroken. Now, after having more formal training in magic and its use, Jason expected things to be different. He expected to at least hold his own.

Jason grinned. "Next time, just say 'bring it.'"

Repeating the tune he’d learned in class, Jason pushed a barrier down his body. It glowed like lamplight from an old bulb, quiet and warm. His palms itched. It took a few seconds before two gumball-sized flames of energy burst free. The sputtering heat spurred him on, and Jason sent them spiraling across the room knowing that his talent, his skill should serve him in a fight.

But this was no fight. This was a massacre.

Damian extended his sword, still edged with Jason’s blood, and corkscrewing the tip in a tight line that captured Jason’s attack. Spinning his body into a graceful line, Damian redirected the small flames to fizzle against the wall. Then Damian attacked. Within seconds Jason’s barrier shattered like glass under the sweep of Damian’s sword. He skipped backwards evading every third swing and bringing the sputtering flame of his magic to attack, but it did very little, and Jason found himself cornered.

Damian’s handsome face seemed frozen in a sneer. He batted a ball of red light from the air with a burst of magic from his fingers then landed a kick to Jason’s side that rolled through his body like thunder. Jason reeled while trying to catch his breath.

“Pathetic,” Damian said, coldly, continuing his attack. He swept at Jason’s feet sending him tumbling to the floor. The blade sliced across his bicep.

The pain seemed to slide down to the scar on his chest, an oozing wet sensation that crackled inside Jason like oil in the pan. And that twinge beside his heart hurt worse than the cut itself.

“Weak,” Damian hissed. “You are not fit to be in this place. Look at you. You are merely a boy.”

The sheer wrongness of that statement caused Jason to stumble to a halt and he nearly found himself skewered. He spun away releasing a red fizzle. “A boy? The fuck? I’m almost fourteen! You’re ten years old! Literally!”

“And I have been made ready. I have experience and control. Look at my body,” said Damian, appearing every inch a young man aged seventeen. He flourished the sword with practice that came from one-hundred lifetimes, poise from one-thousand deaths. “It is older than your own and has survived terrors that you will never understand.”

“Guess life just likes me better than you,” Jason gasped, teeth gritted in a cocky grin. Blood dripped down the curve of his cheek from Damian’s first cut. “Wouldn’t be the only thing to favor me, am I right?”

Incensed, Damian attacked with a wordless roar. There was no way Jason could keep up with it or him. Damian sliced through Jason’s meager defenses flowing from one strike to the next fluid as water. His quiet pressure, the nicks and cuts he placed deliberately along Jason’s knuckles and arms rankled, but nothing stung worse than his pride. Damian was more experienced, more talented, and more determined to prove his superior skill.

For five years, Damian trained as a member of a nameless band of assassins and demon hunters who traced their bloodline to the Assyrian Empire. A timeless order, the hunters believed that demons should be subjugated and cleansed at all costs. Damian had been chosen to be the living vessel to the Demon’s Head, an undying spirit of a powerful sorcerer whose spirit was passed down to live within the heir. The Demon’s Head was also Damian’s grandfather. It had taken a lot of patience and eavesdropping for Jason to discover the more important details. Apparently, the Demon Head thought he should be tall enough to get on amusement park rides before unleashing a torrent of evil into the world. He not only possessed Damian’s body, he also used ancient, unclean magics to age Damian to young adulthood. Time had made him mad, and Ras Al-Ghul did many unspeakable things under the guise of grandson. How much Damian remembered, Jason never asked.

The entire affair was complicated in the worst ways.

But the long of the short of it was this: Jason was horribly outclassed. Damian continued to drive home this point with his sword and his words. Fortunately, Jason was tolerably skilled in one of those arts.

“I thought you fortunate. I thought you worthy to stay in this home. Never would I have thought you stupid enough to invite evil into our home.” Damian pushed Jason back to the ground. “You will learn your place.”

Jason scooted backwards out of the sword’s reach. His heart pounded. His wound ached. The pain dripped inside him, tiny splashes of candlewax burning a callous around his heart. Jason began to shake, enraged and hurt the feelings threatened to overflow. “Is that what they told you? When your family trapped you in your sleep, did they tell you should learn your place? When they came after you? When they tried take you, did they say those words to you too?”

Damian’s chest heaved angrily. “Do not speak of them.”

“Why not? You're trying to punish me for trying to protect myself? For figuring out out how to be my own person? You’re just fucking like them,” Jason spat, watching the words strike Damian as clean as any weapon.

“Do not say that!” Damian spat. His jaw worked as he tried to find something more to say, but his anger was too great.

“Why not? It’s true!” Jason scrambled towards the door but Damian rushed toward him, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him against the wall.

“You’re a fool, Todd." 

“You keep saying that. But I couldn’t just sit here without trying to fight whatever’s out there. I know what’s waiting for me, and I know I couldn’t do it alone.” Jason panted. “You’ve got to understand that, right? I mean. Isn’t that why you’re the Squire?”

Damian paused his attack, face almost under control again. A dark light flickered in his eyes. “You want to know why I am fit to stand at my father’s side? So be it. I will show you what lies in wait for you and your demon friend.” Damian took two huge steps back and settled into an odd stance where his feet split wide with the right turned parallel to his body and the left pointed behind him. The blade of his sword circled clockwise until it pointed skyward. His free hand worked smoothly and from the tips of his two fingers burst a pale green flame. Behind Jason the wall began to rumble and the air filled with damp anticipation. The sound of rain grew louder. Damian spoke. “Let the rivers flow. Let the rain fall like fires from the sky. Those that refuse to learn the price of peace will drown in their own despair. _Mutadaffaq_!” Damian brought his sword down with a wild cry.

The room exploded in furious burst of light. A thousand points came spiraling towards Jason, yet Jason only had eyes for Damian and the great beast that seemed to rise from his sword’s shadow. Its giant bulk scraped the ceiling and its ochre fur shimmered with heat. Cold water swept beneath Jason’s palms and the seat of his pants, but he could not move. He was trapped in the gaze of this monstrous thing. His heart twisted within his chest beating painful loud, so loud he was sure Damian heard it, so loud it seemed to vibrate against the silver of tainted magic wedged in his chest. 

The water covered his thighs and still Jason could not move. He watched Damian glide across the mat, sword rotating in a smooth circle until it was above his head again. The beast trailed to his left, snarling hungrily. All at once they seemed far away and far too close. Together Damian and his demon stalked closer, closer over the silver waters that drew Jason down, down until it lapped at his chin. And then orange bulk and Damian's broad frame disappeared leaving a familiar figure in their wake.

Jason gasped when he saw his father walk stumble through the door. His red hair tumbled over his head and his face bore a dark look. It was poker night, but Willis didn't look like he'd scored the big win he expected. The door slammed behind him rattling the wall. Willis dropped an empty bottle on the table. He turned spying Jason sitting on the floor. "What's all this water doing here?"

Jason began to shake.

"Do you hear me talking to you, boy?" Willis tugged his shirt up revealing the brass belt buckle. "Or do I have to come home and teach you about respect."

“No,” Jason whispered, wholly shaking now as if he could already feel the metal bearing down on him. He didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

The image wavered and Damian appeared, face stricken. "Todd," he said, voice wavering. "Todd. What do you see?" But all Jason could see was the face of his father and the thunderous anger when the leather whipped free, the hunger when Jason cowered, the blankness when the demons hauled his struggling body away. 

"Willis. Please," Jason whispered between chattering teeth. "Don't." He didn't want this. He didn't want to be trapped, alone and cold staring death in the eyes again. And again. 

“Have you forgotten so soon?” A voice whispered in his ear. “No harm will come to you.”

Inky black smoke plumes churned at Jason’s feet filling the vision with a welcoming darkness. Then there was laughter, a loud, boisterous sound that bounced from all corners. A blue flame burst from the smoke and from out of that fire stepped a figure Jason had seen in his dreams.

“Nightwing,” he breathed. It was Nightwing, a slight figure when standing before the behemoth crouched at Damian’s heel, but in Jason’s eyes, he loom just as large. A black mask curled across Nightwing’s eyes and nose and the dark shadows coated him like a second skin except for his chest which crackled and pulsed with blue fire.

“You appear at last, demon. Come, I will fight you for Todd’s soul.” Damian bellowed and the beast echoed with a snort of white steam.

Nightwing touched Jason’s cheek lightly, a wild grin revealing his sharp white teeth. “It is not mine to return. But I have sat too long in the void’s unending cold. I will fight you.” And Nightwing launched his body forward amid the smoke and shadows.

They met in a clash of rushing water. Damian glided across the wet floor with the swirling waters following his blade. Like colors following a brush, Damian painted the room with light and the smell of soured ocean. The sword carved cleanly through the air, but it seemed he could not touch the demon. Nightwing appeared just out of reach, evading every strike, leaping over every lash.

“Come now, tiny hunter. Did you not want your brother’s soul?”

Damian frowned, thin affronted lines breaking through his determined mask. “He is no brother to me!”

“You fight this hard for a stranger?” Nightwing smiled, voice disbelieving. “The world has certainly changed in our absence. Indeed, for the better.” He kicked out catching Damian’s blade with his palm. Damian struggled to pull it free but it would not budge. Nightwing’s smile only grew bigger, the laughter echoed from the dark corners loud. He grabbed the hem of Damian’s shirt and pulled it over his head laughing again as Damian kicked and struggled to free himself.

“Stop,” Jason whispered. He tried to shout it but the pressure in his chest felt too heavy, the pain creeping solidly down his body, a warm wave that baked the chill water from his bones. Watching Nightwing taunt Damian as Damian did him only moments ago was painful. Because the difference in their skill was vast, and Jason knew he could not match it.

Damian landed on the floor with a grunt. His sword skittered across the floor.

“And now the tiny hunter’s rage.” Nightwing leapt into the air gathering more darkness to his glowing form. It pillowed up like a cloud and surrounded him and the beast who roared fiercely and clawed at the slight demon. And like Damian, the beast’s giant paws batted at empty air. Soon, the dark cloud swallowed them both and the room became silent.

Staggering to his feet, Damian retrieved his sword before running to the wavering mass. “What is it doing? Release him!” He swung at the cloud hitting it with a clang that reverberated in the air.

The cloud burst with a crackling sound and a howling wind. It shook the walls and fluttered the heavy mats on the ground. Nightwing stood alone at the center. The eye of the storm, the heart of the maelstrom. His long, dark hair whipped like torn silk. From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Damian brace himself against the torrent then drop to one knee.

“That wasn’t enough to satisfy my hunger, tiny hunter. Do you have anything more to show me?” Nightwing crossed the room in the blink of an eye, dragging Damian up by the collar of his shirt. He looked down, a strange smile playing his lips. “No, I do not thing this one does.”

“That’s enough.” Jason choked on the words. His mouth tasted sharp, gritty like fresh turned dirt.

Nightwing sliced his hand down cutting Damian across his cheek.

Jason pushed to his feet. The waters of _Mutadaffaq_ clung to his cloths anchoring him to one place. The wound across his cheek where Damian first cut throbbed, and his chest burned, and Jason felt small and alone. But he had to put an end to this.

“You’re a fucking dick! Stop it!” But his voice was lost in the sounds of battle.

Once again Damian fought to free himself, but his position was precarious, toes barely scrambling over the floor. “We know your secrets, demon. We know the weakness that confounds you and the truth you seek to hide. You will never wrest the leylines from their bearers. You will never open the gates. And I will cleanse your filthy carcass as did my forbearers did your kind countless times before.”

Nightwing laughed. “Except those who live inside you. Or did you not know the blood breeds true?”

Damian wrenched free and brought his sword up again. He began to chant. The soft, warbling timbre faded into the air in small rings of light.

“Damian stop! I understand now. I do!” Jason turned to Nightwing. “Seriously, leave. You’re making things worse. Where’s Robin!” But Jason’s shout did not command their attention. No, Damian and the demon only turned when the double doors of the training room blew open and Bruce Wayne stalked inside, face thunderous.

Twin slivers of metal flew from his hands releasing a low buzzing sound that expanded out in quiet blue rings. Like a finger on the pause button everything within the room stopped. It was a great unleashing of magic that swept over Jason's skin like a chill wind. The smoke dissipated. The waters dried. The flames shattered like ice.

Bruce stood at the top of the stairs darkening the room with his shadow. “What is going on here?”

Damian and Jason exchanged a dark look and shouted, “He started it!”

  


* * *

 

Bruce sat at the head of the small writing table. His presence filled the open room making everything feel cramped and miserable. He’d been watching them in silence for nearly twenty minutes now, which wasn’t exactly the kind of punishment to which Jason was accustomed. Neither was writing out an apology.

Across the table, Damian glowered at the paper. His hand moved across the page eating the lines until he flipped the page over and started on another. Jason could do better but for two things. He couldn’t concentrate and he wasn’t feeling particularly contrite right now.

The whole mess started because he’d wanted to apologize. In fact, he’d already tried apologizing but Damian was the one who couldn’t handle it. Almost an adult on the outside, a stubborn, pissy little child on the inside. Would that count as part of his apology? Jason was willing to find out.

But Damian’s huffy sighs or Bruce’s disappointed stare weren’t the reasons why Jason couldn’t concentrate. Half of his attention kept wandering to Robin who also sat at the table working on his own apology.

Nightwing had melted away when Bruce ended the fight leaving Robin’s sleeping form on the ground, gold chains returned, and Jason the responsibility of explaining his appearance and disappearance. Dark Knight mode activated at that point was still going.

The only hint of Nightwing that remained was the clear, guileless blue fire in Robin’s eyes. The rest of his presence faded like the dark clouds escaping a brilliant sun becoming a demon boy again. Robin played the part well, doodling strange symbols across the page between glaring at Damian from beneath the heavy fringe of his bangs. Jason had to keep his eyes open hoping to catch a glimpse that will help him understand. He let something dangerous and unknown loose. He knew that now. Something dangerous and free that fought to protect Jason with dreadful ease.

“Jason.” It was Bruce’s mild voice who brought Jason from his thoughts. “Jason, you and Damian are in trouble. I would hope that you’d appreciate the severity of your actions and reflect on them.”

Jason looked up, frowning. “I get it. You’re angry and disappointed. We shouldn’t be fighting no matter what the other said to provoke the situation. None of that matters,” he adds after Damian slammed down his pencil. “But I’m trying here, Bruce. I promise.”

Bruce picked up the page Jason had just completed and pointed to the introductory paragraph. “Read this, please.”

“Sure, B.” Jason shrugged, clearing his throat before reading. “I think apologizes are pretty hard for our society to deal with. You’re supposed to apologize and show respect for someone you’ve wrong. Or at least that you had someone in your life to teach you how to treat people better. I had someone here comes the sun.” Jason looked up at Bruce then back at the paper. “Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. What the fu—“

“Language, Jason.”

Jason flipped over to the back page but it was the same four words repeated over and over again.

“I didn’t mean to. Bruce, man. I’m sorry. I don’t know what this is.” He frowned thinking back to the library. “I can’t believe this is still happening.”

Bruce’s icy gaze narrowed. “You’ve experienced this before? When.”

“After class this week. I had uh. It’s a bit of a story.”

“We’ve more than enough time for your explanation, Jason,” said Bruce.

And so for the third time in as many hours, Jason engaged in what he discovered to be his least favorite past time since coming to the manor: explaining his fuck-ups to Bruce. He took Bruce back to the first time he’d met his so-called tutor in the study hall. He’d only gone there to escape lunch with the kids in his summoning class and kept going because it was quiet. The otherwordly boy had appeared just after noon wandering through the wall with a lonesome look on his face. He sat at the table across from Jason and watched him erase his answer after checking the back of the book. Jason hadn’t thought to raise a fuss because it didn’t seem to mean any harm. And then, after Jason calculated another wrong answer, the ghost had floated a pencil up from the table and started working the problem.

Alongside Jason’s deep well of surging heat, a taint that seeped up through his skin and attracted spirits of the dead and the dying to him. Jason explained that his tutor often returned to help him, but was different from the spirits that haunted him throughout the day. No fear or fascination, the two modes he seemed to evoke in spirits, just a quiet attitude of assistance.

“And that’s how it started. He’s real quiet, nice and smart,” said Jason. “He really knows what he’s doing. But he can’t talk. I offered to help him pass over because, well, isn’t that what an exorcist is supposed to do?”

“It is a wonder he hasn’t brought an under-boss to our home already,” Damian sneered. “Really, Todd. What are they teaching you at school if you did not notice?”

“He’s cool and he helps check my math homework. I got an A on my last test!”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose for a full six seconds.

Robin reached across the table and took a blue marker from Damian’s art supplies. Damian slammed the box close. Robin hissed at him. And Bruce closed his eyes.

“Enough,” he barked. “Jason, I agree that there might be a connection between this and your tutor. We’ll talk about this later. I’d also like Alfred to give you a check-up as it were. In the meantime start over.” Bruce set a fresh sheet of paper on the table.

“Come on, man! That’s. I already started to this one.”

“And it’s a good start. Just rewrite your opening paragraph and try and focus through the next two pages.

“I will attend to it once your punishment is complete sir,” Alfred said, appearing silently at Bruce’s shoulder as he so often did.

“You mean the boys’ punishment,” said Bruce with a pointed look.

“Indeed sir. But it is interesting to see your parents methods of remediation are being applied now. I admit to thinking the day would never come.”

Bruce gave the butler a tired smile. In fact, everything about Bruce looked tired right now. The drain of his magical energy after releasing such a spell took a steep toll on him. It was one of many secrets the Dark Knight carried. While having a command of every part of the craft, Bruce had very little in the way of raw magical power and experienced magic fatigue quite often. Yet, Bruce was a master enchanter with an engineer’s mind, allowing him to embed complicated spells into his arsenal.

“Do you know what it means?” Jason tapped his failed apology.

“What it means? Perhaps,” said Bruce. “But I think the better question is why it’s happening at all.”

“I explained that I asked the ghost if he wanted me to help him cross over. What do you think that it means?”

“It could be a message or a sign of something he’d like to retrieve. The words might be from an old song.” Bruce unbent enough to smile. “I heard it a lot growing up.”

“You think the ghost wants to listen to some song?”

“It's possible,” said Bruce. "We’ll know more after your check-up. But I do have it on vinyl if you’d like to listen to it?”

“You know I could just download it on my phone, right?” Jason picks up a new pencil and began rewriting his apology. “But I guess that’d be cool.” He cut his eyes to Bruce offering him a quick smile.

“I’m done,” Damian said, cutting through. “If you will excuse me, father.”

“Not yet. Once Jason is done, you’ll exchange apologies. Sincerely,” he said, jabbing a finger at them both. Growling, Damian grabbed another sheet of paper and began writing again.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Jason completed his apology. He slammed his pencil down a feeling like post-test exhilaration spiraling through him. Robin painstakingly placed a blue marker back in Damian’s art supplies, teeth bared in challenge. Damian rolled his eyes.

“Is everyone done?” asked Bruce. He gave an approving nod when the three boys said they were. “Then who would like to give their apology first.”

“I would!’ Robin shouted hopping to his feet. He placed his apology in front of Bruce who smiled.

“That’s quite clever,” Bruce said, picking up the blank page.

Frowning, Jason touched the sharp edge. “I could have sworn he was drawing on it.”

“There’s a charm to hide the spell,” said Bruce.

“I’m not surprised he couldn’t see it,” Damian mutters viciously.

“Like you can?”

“Of course.” Damian smirked.

“What’s it say then?”

Damian paused a slow heat creeping up his ears. “I did not say I could read its foul language. Only that I can see it.”

“Be respectful,” said Bruce, saving Damian from Jason’s revenge. Maybe he couldn’t be Damian in terms of skill and talent, but Jason more than proved himself with words. Bruce’s perfectly arched brow rose as if daring him to roast his son. Figuring he'd already worn a hole in Bruce's patience, Jason closed his mouth with a snap. “Go ahead, Robin.”

Soft, dark smoke curled up from the paper growing lighter the higher it rose. Slowly, the amorphous vapor took the shape of a small tree, and on that tree sat a boy no more than tall than the length of Jason’s middle finger. Jason ducked closer to be sure, but it looked like an inky drawing of his Robin, dark messy curls, curious eyes, but oh so sad. Jason turned to face the demon boy, who caught his hand, and though his clear voice echoed in the room, his words seemed as if they were Jason alone.

“Once, I was a boy filled with wonder, trapped in solitude.” Slowly, letters rose from the paper, fading up toward the light. They were shaped strangely, circles and lines that Jason had never seen before. The tiny boy on the tree walked along the branches, end to end over and over again. He crouched, he sat, he sang with the birds. And he looked very lonely.

“It was the time of gods and their favor meant life. My god found me. She liked my song. She called me Robin and bade that I sing in her vernal host. There I found a sister, a girl who was filled with wonder.” A girl appeared on the tree. She gripped Robin’s hand and pulled him higher and higher up the tree, mouth drawn in a spirited grin. “We swore that no child should be left alone, no child should suffer in the dark, and our goddess agreed for spring is a time of hope. We took on a new form to spread the word of our goddess.” The children transformed into a swirl of ink whose lines spread into small, bright birds. The tree collapsed upon the page and the letters disappeared.

“That is why this one deeply regrets the actions of our justice. Although the son of the Guardian is willfully blind, he is only a child, and our justice saw he acted out of fear for his brother. This one, no.” Robin shook his head. “ _I_ am sorry for breaking the peace of your home. _I_ am sorry for harming your son. I offer this gift to you.” The paper crackled and churned then burst in a shower of white confetti. In its place sat a dozen colorful flowers, gentle and sweet smelling. He swept the flowers into his hands and offered them to Bruce.

Bruce accepted the flowers looking surprised and a little touched. “Thank you, Robin,” he said, and the demon boy beamed.

Jason nudged his shoulder. “Dude. Flowers?”

“When Rikardu speaks, we listen. And Rikardu says flowers warm the coldest minds, hearts, and beds,” he whispered, looking confused. Jason leaned back, deciding to let that one go.

“These are quite nice,” said Bruce, touching each petal.

“They are like your gardens, but they will never leave you,” said the demon excitedly.

“That’s very good to know. Robin. Why did you make a pact with Jason?” Bruce asked the question carefully.

Robin crossed his legs and floated just above his seat. “This one heard the voice of Jason in the void,” he said, voice grave. “It was the first in so long, the only one to reach us. But this one knew we must answer the call. This one asked that we help him. This one will make sure he is protected from all harm.”

“Even from yourself?”

Robin shook his head, dark waves shifting around his face. “This one will _never_ hurt him. But aye, I will protect Jason Todd from even myself.”

“I accept your word and your apology. Keep the peace in my house, protect this child, and you will earn the friendship of this city's sworn protector.”

Robin's eyes burned. “Thank you, Guardian. It will be done.”

Bruce set the flowers back on the table. “Who wants to go next?”

“There’s no way we can beat that,” Jason said, laughing, so of course Damian stood.

“I will go next, father.” Damian shuffled pages together as if gathering his thoughts, then turned the full force of his glare on Jason. “Todd. You came into this home at my father’s insistence. He is a man of great kindness. Add to your regrets this fact: your actions have shown that such feelings are a weakness. Here is another, I am afflicted by the same. I goaded and hurt you so that you would summon your demon. My plan was to rid you from its influence, and while I maintain it was a good plan.” Damian dropped his gaze. “I regret that you were so thoroughly hurt.”

And then Damian began to outline the fight in embarrassing detail, taking note of the areas where Jason utterly failed. It was more embarrassing than the fight, but on some level, it was very funny. By the time Damian reached his third page, Jason had relaxed, and by page five, Jason was fighting back laughter.

“In summation, I regret that you were hurt, yet I stand by my original claim that there is much for you to learn. It is up to both my father and myself to maintain constant vigilance in regards to your magical education. I will not fail you again. As for your demon,” Damian sniffs. “It is quite powerful. Be on your guard.”

"Well. That was quiet thorough," Bruce said after Robin finished his polite clap. 

“Yeah. You were very clear,” said Jason. If that wasn’t the definitive “sorry, not sorry,” Jason would eat a hat.

“Naturally,” said Damian, returning to his seat.

“I guess that means it’s my turn.” Jason rose from his chair. It wasn’t until he glanced across the table that he realized how embarrassing this would feel. Three separate pairs of blue eyes on him, waiting for him to speak, judging him. Robin caught his fingers and squeezed an encouraging smile on his bowed lips. It was enough to get him started.

Jason’s second apology was short and to the point, addressing both Bruce and Damian, but also Robin. He’d come to like the demon boy in this short amount of time and didn’t want anything to happen to him. When he’d for power to help protect others, Jason hadn’t thought about the danger that would come with unleashing such a being on the city. A city where demon kings built their bases. A city where the Dark Knight worked of purify the streets of evil. A city filled with exorcists.

“I knew I should have done it, but I did it anyway. I now realize that I have to be more careful. Power is dangerous,” said Jason. “But my ignorance is worse. I put every single one of you in danger because of it. Despite your actions, I didn’t want to fight you, Damian. Not for real. And I won’t, unless you try and hurt Robin.”

“Ttch. That is fair. Your apology is accepted, Todd.”

Jason grinned. “Yeah. Yours too.”

* * *

 

Bruce led the boys deep into halls of Wayne Manor. The majority of living took place in what Alfred called the eastern expansion, a wing of Wayne Manor that had been built during the late seventies and modernized by Bruce once he returned to Gotham. Jason had never ventured into the west wing. It looked a bit like a museum, old rooms carefully preserved from their time period. They were recognizable only through Jason’s participation in Bruce and Damian’s movie night. Bruce always picked classic films, slapstick and screwball comedies from the thirties, hardboiled detectives from the forties, and the odd beach blanket movies and musicals from the fifties.

Finally, Bruce ushered them into a room with shag carpeting and orange and brown furniture. A very large, very old stereo system took over the far wall.

“Go ahead and sit down. I’ll set everything up,” said Bruce.

Shrugging, Jason climbed onto an old couch that smelled faintly of dust and juice. Robin curled onto the same cushion. “You know, there’s plenty of room,” he grumbled, but Robin only looked at him with his sky blue eyes and smiled.

“I want to sit next to you,” he said.

Groaning, Damian took the plaid easy chair furthest away from them.

A wide cabinet with sat beside it with shelves laden with vinyl records in their original covers. Bruce opened the glass door and began pulled down the right record. He flashed it to Jason and Damian. On it four men in vintage suites were walking over a crosswalk.

“I’ve seen that before,” said Jason.

“You have?” Bruce’s asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah. Saw it on a t-shirt in Tepid Issues. It’s pretty cool.”

“Yes,” said Bruce. “It is pretty cool.” He places the album on the player and helps the needle find the groove.

The jangly sounds of a guitar rose from the giant speakers and a man sang quietly, “Here comes the sun.” It was a soft, airy tune that reminded Jason of waking up on those chilled mornings to see the sunlight creeping through the curtains whispering winter was over and good things waited. Robin sighed, settling his head against Jason’s shoulder and began tracing shapes into his palm.

Halfway through the song Bruce picked up the tune. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” he sang in a deep, scratchy voice.

“You know the words?” Damian asked, hesitantly.

“Of course. It was one of my mother’s favorite songs, although secretly, I think she liked Nina Simone’s version a little better. This much.” He holds up two fingers. “Just enough to feel disloyal, I think.”

“Could we listen to it again?” Damian's tone was casual, but his voice sounded small, unsure for the second time in seconds.

Bruce smiled like he was given another gift. “Of course we can.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon together listening to old records. Robin pressed against his side, Bruce and Damian sharing a little of their family with them all, it was good, and finally, the pain in Jason's chest was soothed.

 

* * *

 

**ii.**

  
Jason stood in the middle of his room contemplating the sweater in his hands. Alfred had suggested Jason return most of his winter clothing now that the weather was beginning to improve, but the recent cold snap had Jason thinking it’d be a good idea to keep some things until the next time he returned to the Manor. Now, halfway through sorting clothes, Jason realized that he had preferences. He wasn’t sure when he started thinking of these clothes as his, as owning them enough to have a favorite, but this blue one was a favorite. It was clean, didn’t itch, and never felt too tight when he wore it over the academy shirt and tie.

Little things like having favorites, owning up to the things the Wayne money has bought him, liking them, this was all new to Jason. He didn’t like the feeling coiling in his gut when he thought about all the things he had and how little he deserved them.

It was best not to agonize over it, not when he had so many other problems. And didn’t he have another algebra test on Thursday?

He folded the sweater and tossed it onto the duffle bag that lay open on his bed. The sweater plopped down with a soft whooshing sound, then slowly floated back into the air. Jason’s heart stuttered in his chest but he pushed past the fright, swinging his right hand up, left bracing his wrist as a puddle of light sputtered in his palm. He took a deep breath, prepared to shout his best (and only) offensive spell when he stopped, choking on the words.

Robin climbed out of the duffle in whirl of pooling smoke, face crinkled in boyish glee. The sweater balanced on the top of his head.

“You look ridiculous,” Robin laughed, pointing as Jason’s face coasted through from fear, determination, annoyance, to anger, all parts of the emotional thrill ride.

“Shut up,” Jason grumbled, cheeks burning. He snatched the sweater from Robin’s head tangling the silken mess of hair.

Robin folded his legs and floated above the bed, fingers carding through his hair until it fell across his face in a giant wave. “What is this one doing? You have spent an age inside this room.”

“I’m packing up some things,” Jason huffed. “School in the morning.”

Robin gave a small humming sound, the one that Jason recognized as Robin not understanding what’s going on and not caring about it either. The dick. “When can we go back outside?”

“After dinner, I guess.” Jason folded up his freshly laundered boxers and shoved them beneath his lightweight khakis.

“And tomorrow? Will we go to the gardens again too? There is still much that I would show you.”

Jason shrugged. “I’m sure Alfred will let you out if you ask. As long as you don’t do anything bad. Or you can ask Damian,” he added, giving Robin a wicked grin.

Robin sent a puff of air straight into his face. “I want you to take me,” he said, and what do you know demons can whine with the best of them.

“I’m going to be at school,” said Jason. “I won’t be back to the manor until Spring Break. Shit.” Jason frowned and gave his demon a considering look. “I didn’t think of that actually. What are you going to do when I’m gone?”

Robin lean body wobbled in the air. “You are to be gone from this place?”

“Yeah. I said I was going to school, remember. I live there.”

“You are going to this school and leaving me here?” He asked, piteously. His feet sank into the carpet.

“Well. Yeah?” Jason said, slowly. “It’s not like you can go to school.”

“What is this school?” Robin’s voice dropped on the word, filling it with the same amount of despair as would any other kid.

“It’s where kids go to learn things. You know, reading, writing languages, how to actually do math. Although, I don’t think that one works as well as anyone would like. There’s fun things too. I signed up for a music class next year. Maybe I can join band. Learn how to play the drums.” Jason continued extolling the virtues of school as he packed. He pulled a cap off the shelf and settled it over his head. The Gotham Royal’s logo looked a little funky on this one. He set it back on the shelf and pulled down the red and white one. Much better. “And my school teaches us how to use our magic too. They’ve got a lot of rules and I probably broke all of them trying to talk to you on campus.”

“Why is it that you must go there?”

“Because I have to, but I also want to. Learning is good for you, you know?” And he has plans, all of which hinge on Jason making the right grades.

Jason turned back to find Robin tossing what looked like one of Alfred’s canvas shopping bags onto his bed. Robin disappeared in a soundless puff of smoke then quickly reappeared arms laden with junk. A silver tea set, a strand of turquoise beads, a box of cereal, Robin arranged each thing carefully in the bottom of the bag before smoking out. He returned with more items, flowers from the garden, several twigs and stones, a bottle of Zesti cola, another necklace and where was Robin even finding jewelry at, as well as a few shirts.

It almost looked like Robin was….

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, giving Robin the benefit of the doubt. Because there was no way this crazy thing he’d bound himself to thought he was going to….

“I’m packing up some things,” Robin said, mimicking Jason’s words from earlier down to the weary inflection. “School in the morning.”

“You are not coming to school with me.”

Exorcists took care of the blood-thirsty, flesh-eating, world destroying demons who roamed Gotham at night and preyed on the weak and innocent. There was an entire wing of the Maxwell-Huerr Academy of Occult Arts dedicated to learning the exorcist’s craft of finding and eradicating creatures like Robin. Well, evil creatures who were similar to but not awesome like Robin. Jason didn’t want them catching wind of Robin’s existence, not before he was accepted into the program and could protect them both.

Jason snatched his blue t-shirt out of Robin’s bag. “When did you even take this?”

Robin hissed, tugging the shirt back. “The old one, the Alfred said it was for this one alone.”

“You can’t just take my things.” Jason reached out to grab his shirt back, but Robin swiped at him with those talons of his. “Yo!” he cried, leaning out of range. “What is wrong with you?”

“You take your things with you and I take mine. You will take what is yours.” Robin balled the shirt in his fists then threw it into his sack. His big blue eyes wavered and his mouth pulled into a deep pout. “Is this one not yours, Jason Peter Todd?”

Jason could feel another blush flooding over him at hearing the promise shared between them. It wasn’t like Jason hadn’t said those words. Not the exact ones that Robin was saying right now, but he had called Robin his, his partner, his teammate, his. He met Robin’s burning eyes and nodded unable to speak against the truth. “You are.”

“If this one is yours, you cannot leave me. You will not leave me.”

“Well, I’m not taking you to school either, so I guess we have a problem.”

“There is no problem” said Robin. “I am coming to school.”

“Come on. I said I was coming back for Spring Break. That’s less than three weeks, so it won’t be that long. Besides, what would you even do there? It’s not like you need to learn anything, right? You’re a big, bad demon who knows everything, remember?” he added, slyly and a bit pleased with himself.

“This one can go to this school and teach you magic.” The moment the words fell out of Robin’s mouth, his entire mood seemed to brighten. His feet lifted from the floor again and the mullish pout disappeared in a dazzling smile. “Yes! I will teach magic to everyone.”

“No,” Jason said, loudly. “You cannot do that. It wouldn’t be allowed. Look, Robin. Hey.” He caught Robin’s elbow and tugged him gently, changing tactics again. “You’re not one of us, okay. Anyone would take one look at you and know you’re not human. You don’t even wear pants, man.”

Robin’s bright eyes faded but only for a moment. He pulled away from Jason with a huff moving to stand in the center of the room. Robin’s entire body wavered then became engulfed in a sooty wave of blue smoke and fire. It disappeared just as suddenly, leaving Robin patting the last of the flames from his shoulders and elbows. Jason stared at him, mouth agape.

“This one is now one of you,” Robin said, proudly. He was fully clothed, finally, wearing the entire boy’s uniform for the academy, gray slacks, white button down, and blazer. The only real difference was the blue threading the academy crest on the shoulder and the tie. They both seemed lit with the vivid blue of Robin’s fire. Robin tugged at the black lapels of the blazer that fit snug around his body and spun around, preening. “Let us go to school together, Jason!”

Jason fell back onto his bed with a sigh, realizing he had another huge fight on his hands.


End file.
